


My Name's Not 'Joe'

by Funfetti



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Batman Begins (2005), Dark Knight (2008), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Angst, Beating, Captivity, Crime Fighting, Dubious Consent, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Inner Dialogue, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Post-The Dark Knight Rises, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 102,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funfetti/pseuds/Funfetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Take me,” Johan said again louder.</p><p>The masked man turned his head, his gray eyes studying the boy.</p><p>With much care and deliberation, Johan reached up and peeled off his head mask. Once fully removed, he took the mask and tossed it to Bane’s feet like a gift of surrender.</p><p>“If you let the Batman live, I will give myself to you,” Johan said. His gold eyes were alight with boldness.</p><p>Bane bent down slowly and picked up the mask, running his large fingers over the fabric. He said nothing in response.</p><p>“Do you accept?” Johan asked loudly.</p><p>The masked man’s eyes were roving over Johan’s face. He had already seen the boy’s features before but now he was looking at them with curiosity.</p><p>“ ‘Give yourself’ you say,” Bane said in contemplation. “What are you planning to provide to me?”</p><p>Johan kept his face neutral at the implication of the question.</p><p>“Whatever you want me to,” he answered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> Johan is an OC of mine that's been bouncing around in my brain for a while. So of course I did what any curious person would do - throw him in with Bane to see what would happen.
> 
> Here are the deviations I made in the Nolan-movieverse to account for this OC:  
> 1\. Johan came to Gotham soon after the end of Batman Begins.  
> 2\. Blake doesn't become Nightwing/the new Batman and is not featured in his fic (sorry to all the Blake fans!)  
> 3\. Instead of Bruce taking 8 years off before his return as Batman in The Dark Knight Rises he only takes 2.
> 
> I wanted to let you all know that this is going to be the only heads-up regarding violence or rape-related issues for this fic. Let me start by saying that even though Johan is referred to as a “boy” or “kid”, he is over 20 years old so there is no underage issue involved. That being said, I do not condone the sexual violence that is portrayed in this story. If any of the above bothers you then please feel free to pass this story over.
> 
> Credit regarding the “nanomachines” and “stealth gear” goes to Hideo Kojima – I borrowed heavily from the Metal Gear Solid series. If you don’t know what that is you should look it up, it’s great!
> 
> And that's all - I hope you enjoy!

_Present day, September_

Gotham was hot for this time in autumn. A fog of heat was practically hovering over the streets. Inside Gordon’s house, Johan was laying on the couch wearing only a t-shirt and boxers in an effort to keep cool. His eyes were fixed towards the ceiling, slowly blinking every now and again when his hair brushed into his eyes. All of the first floor windows were open to let in a weak breeze and Johan had stationed two fans in the living room pointing directly at his comfortably sprawled form. His left arm and leg were hanging off the side of the couch seat while his right side was squished against the plush back.

The setting sun began to creep downwards and a ray of light seeping through the window shined on Johan’s eyes; he sighed and turned over off his back, diverting his gaze from the glare. Tired of listening to the drone of the fans and the buzzing of insects outside, Johan pressed the “Cancel Mute” button on the remote for the television. It had been silently displaying the nightly news, the light from the screen bouncing around in the darkening room.

_“…It’s great to see Main Street finally bustling again, full of people just happy to have their city back. The amount of work in terms of rebuilding that has been completed since the Occupation is tremendous…”_

Johan’s eyes rapidly moved over the television screen as GNN flashed photo reels of comparison pictures: there were split screen snapshots of the renovated city next to what it looked like this past March. The difference was tremendous just as the reporter had said. The rubble and broken pavement from ravaged buildings and streets had since been replaced with fresh asphalt and new exteriors for damaged shops and businesses. Johan sighed again as he muted the news once more and instead stared at the wall behind the television stand.

There was a mounted print of a painting that Barbara had gotten from the Gotham Art Museum when she and Gordon took their kids many years ago. The boy shifted his head up to look closer at the framed landscape. It was a field with cypress trees, the clouds and wheat painted in swirls that gave the scene a dreamlike quality. The piece was a van Gogh that Johan liked very much. But this particular nature scene dredged up unhappy memories. Yet, against his better judgment, he found himself looking at it often. He closed his eyes slowly and thought of a not too distant memory.

A raspy voice soon filled the boy’s head:

_“There is a certain tree that grows in Africa called the Widdringtonia cypress. It only releases its seed after being scorched by a blazing fire. Only then can new generations sprout from the scorched earth. Like the cypress, only when Gotham is in ashes can it rise up anew.”_

Johan glanced once more at the painting before he rolled back over to look at the ceiling again. He really shouldn’t be looking at that landscape everyday. It always brought to the forefront of his mind the memories of a certain five long months. Of a man, particularly.

_Maybe I could ask Gordon if I can move the van Gogh to the dining room_ , the boy thought. _We never eat_ _at the formal table anyway._

If the painting were in another room, the boy’s eyes wouldn't be inevitably drawn to it when he dozed on the couch each afternoon.

His eyes scoured the ceiling, taking in the details of the creamy, stucco design. Johan had discerned most of the minute details of the circular molding above him. But sometimes he noticed a new imperfection in the mottled finish from a slip of the worker’s trowel or wet stucco layered too thickly.

_So many imperfections_ , he said to himself, _but still an attractive end product_.

The same raspy voice entered his head once more. It was hard to forget it; the resonating quality was just as palpable as if he had heard it yesterday. The pitch of the voice was deep and endowed with strength and confidence. Mechanical hissing, evidence of labored breathing through an obstructed air route, distorted the deep tone. A likeness immediately shot up in Johan’s mind, one of a mask formed with gleaming metal and thick leather. The raspy voice spoke again. 

_“Gotham is a blight on the face of this world. To remove such an imperfection we must purge it. The same is true with all of nature.”_

Johan closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. _The voice was wrong_ , he thought.

The boy recalled the pictures in the news segment from the reconstruction of blown up bridges and buildings being made new. Families everywhere in the city were rebuilding their broken lives to once again call Gotham their home. People, it turns out, are a lot like Gordon’s stucco ceiling: many imperfections here and there, but still capable of producing something beautiful.

_Gotham didn’t need the fire to renew itself after all,_ Johan told himself _. The raspy voice was wrong, but I couldn’t persuade it._

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway made Johan open his eyes; it marked Gordon’s late arrival home. Not even the Commissioner of Police could leave work on time. Simply too many things still left to do and not enough manpower to do them. Johan smoothly rose from the couch and opened the front door, giving Gordon a wave as the older man closed the passenger door of his car with a foot. A large box full of case files burdened his arms. Gordon bringing work home was not unusual; both Johan and Gordon often spent long hours at the kitchen table pouring over any connections that could lead to recapture of Blackgate Penitentiary escapees, or at least the ones still hiding out in Gotham. It was slow going but they were making progress.

“Thanks, son,” murmured Gordon as Johan took the box and followed the man into the kitchen.

Gordon was tired and he took off his glasses to rub his hands against baggy eyes. Johan noticed sweat on Gordon’s dress shirt when he took off his suit jacket and put it on a chair. Gordon then plopped down on the seat none too gracefully. The older man put his glasses on the table and continued to rub his tired eyes. 

“I ordered Chinese food since I didn’t want to cook. Figured it would only make the house hotter,” Johan said as he put the heavy box on the table. He had glanced at a few names on the file tabs and recognized some. He and Batman had apprehended a few of them years before.

_Guess I’ll be tracking down some old acquaintances. Bruce would have enjoyed visiting some old friends_ , he thought with a sad grin.

Gordon put his glasses back on and reached an arm behind him to wade through his suit jacket pocket. “Ah, Joe, I almost forgot.”

He raked around some more and pulled out a bag with a _Gotham Hardware_ logo. He smiled up at Johan and handed it over.

“Turns out thermistors are cheaper than I thought,” he remarked. Johan took the bag and opened it to see some wires wrapped in clear packaging. “Now we can fix the damn AC. It’s a sauna in here.”

Johan put the wires on the table and sat down. “No problem, Jim. I’ll take care of it tonight.”

Gordon finished settling himself, loosening his tie and undoing the first two buttons of his dress shirt. The man turned and regarded the boy for a few moments, taking in his disheveled attire and unkempt hair. Johan’s usually bright golden eyes were dulled from hours of sleepless dozing.

“Did you get any sleep today, Joe?”

Johan ruffled the back of his hair and gave Gordon a tight smile. In truth he had hardly slept at all for the past few days. He would come home from nightly patrol just to stare up at the ceiling for hours, and more often then not, at the van Gogh on the wall. It was hard to sleep when a certain raspy voice never seemed to leave his head. Not that Johan was going to tell Gordon this; the older man didn’t know that he had been in Gotham with the League of Shadows during the Occupation. Johan wanted to keep it this way. Such knowledge would only lead to Gordon asking questions (he was a cop, it was in his nature) and shooting the boy an endless amount of concerned looks.

_His voice never leaves me alone, Gordon. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t._ The boy gave a shake of his head meant to placate the Commissioner.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m only going out for a few hours tonight. No new leads anyway, right?”

The older man sighed and leaned in towards Johan, concern evident in his tired face; Gordon could see through the boy’s calm façade. Johan had always been horrible at lying or acting around those he cared for. Sure, the boy could usually control any outward emotions from surfacing during patrol-related activities or combat missions. However, with people like Gordon, Bruce, and _the voice_ , he had not been able to hide his feelings.

“I do worry, son,” Gordon replied. “Even though you may be practically superhuman doesn’t mean I don’t go to bed at night hoping that nothing happens to you.”

He placed his hand on Johan’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It was the same with Batman, even though I didn’t know who he was at the time. So of course I’m going to be worried about you. No matter whatever those special things are in your veins. Those nan-tech-o-whatevers. They don’t make you invincible.” 

Johan chuckled. It felt good to have someone that cared about him, that cared whether or not he was alive and doing okay. Times like this is when he realizes he loves Gordon like a father.

_Not that I have much personal experience,_ he mused to himself _, but this seems like how it’s supposed to feel_.

“I think you mean nanomachine technology, Jim.”

With another quick squeeze of Johan’s arm Gordon grinned. He removed his hand and leaned back in the chair.

“Well, I do remember that when I managed to see Bruce during the day at some random charity event, he never failed to look like he just woke up from an all night bender. I don’t know if he ever managed to sleep at all. So I guess it comes with your particular line of chosen work. After all, you can’t be called the Shadow and work in daylight.”

Gordon raised his hand to gesture at the heavy box. “Speaking of which, I brought some cases that may prove fruitful. We can take a look at them later tonight before you go out on patrol. 

The man’s shoulders sagged subtly at the prospect of another night of digging for tiny details that may or may not put them on the trail of any Blackgate prisoners.

“Don’t worry,” Johan said soothingly. “If there are any of them left that haven’t fled town yet, we’ll find them. They can’t hide forever.”

The Commissioner stared at the box for a moment and then nodded resolutely.

He then smiled and patted Johan on the shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Joe. Bruce would be happy to know you’re taking care of this city until it’s back on its feet again.”

As Gordon got up and walked upstairs to change, Johan picked up the thermistor and gave it a once over; it would only take a few minutes to replace the wiring. Then the house would stop feeling like it had been airlifted and dropped somewhere in the tropics. Johan knew that Gordon appreciated him taking care of any house-related repairs. The older man needed a reprieve after work instead of coming home just to do household duties. Johan had free time during the day to get menial tasks done. Nighttime, on the other hand, was another story.

Headlights in front of the house shined through the windows and Johan could hear the deliveryman opening and closing doors, rummaging to get the bag of their food.

“Hey, Joe!” Gordon called from upstairs, obviously seeing the lights, too. “I’ll be down in five minutes. Save some lo mein for me this time!”

Johan laughed to himself. “Okay,” he called loud enough for the man to hear, “I’ll try my best!”

He couldn’t hear Gordon’s muffled reply from upstairs.

_Not my fault he underestimates my skill in eating, particularly when it comes to noodles_ , the boy thought with a smile.

Johan looked down again at the box brimming with criminal case files. The money for the takeout was shoved under the box and Johan shifted the heavy container to reach the bills. As he did, half of the files plopped to the side, uncovering file names Johan had not previously seen. One in particular caught his eye.

The tab had a name printed: Victor Cowell.

Subconsciously the boy ran the tips of his fingers along a thin, raised scar running under his hair along the right temple.

_Bullet graze courtesy of Mr. Cowell_ , he thought dryly.

Cowell wasn’t an escapee prisoner of Blackgate, but he remembered the night he met the man quite well. That particular night was one of the few Johan had been unprepared for what occurred. In retrospect, the boy had been very foolish. The events set into motion that night resulted in five months of his life being taken away. A small price in the end, though - Gotham had been saved.

Out of interest Johan plucked out the file, opened it, and saw crime scene photos that were dated two days prior. The boy’s eyes widened at seeing the dead body of Victor Cowell. The man had a twisted neck, his whole head turned around 180 degrees; his face had a trace of lingering surprise, meaning he had died quickly. The most important detail of the photos was the telltale pattern on Cowell’s neck: thick bruising left by strong, steady hands. They were hands larger than that of an ordinary man, belonging to someone who has dedicated his life to calculated killing.

The boy deftly closed the file and placed it back in the box; he didn’t need to see anymore of the report. He stood perfectly still for several moments, ignoring the adamant knocking at the door by the deliveryman. Slowly he made his way into the dark living room where he stopped and stood motionless. His face displayed an expression of eerie calm save his eyes. His usual golden-hued irises had changed to the color of silver. The shifting light reflecting off the muted television screen made his eyes look alight with fire. Silver, flickering fire. The boy turned his head to look past the television at the van Gogh painting.

He saw the painted cypress trees.

Johan’s thoughts were solely devoted to one subject: a man. The same man he felt his thoughts wandering to each day when he gazed at the painting. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Slowly, a human silhouette began to form inside his mind. The silhouette became an image as detailed and clear as if the man were standing in front of him, real enough to touch. The mask, too, was present, and Johan could hear the hissing sound as though the man was standing behind him, hovering over his shoulder and wheezing into his ear.

_He must be dead_ , he thought. _He has to be dead_.

Johan sifted through all his memories of the last day of the Occupation, the 15th of March. Just as easily as he recalled the detailed visage of the man, he could likewise see and smell everything as it was on that day. He let his mind wander.

_The deafening explosions and loud scattering of gunfire had ceased. Johan quickly and quietly made his way up the Gotham City Hall steps, avoiding the dead bodies of both policemen and mercenaries alike. The main battle had moved from City Hall and the remaining fighters had moved further down the block, leaving the building seemingly deserted. But the boy still moved cautiously; his stealth armor was bullet proof but he was not wearing the headgear to protect his skull from a well-placed round._

_The odor of cordite from the gunfire permeated the air as he entered in the large, heavy doors of the building. They were left ajar so Johan was able to slip silently inside without any creaking of hinges or shifting of a door on marble floor. When he entered the main rotunda, complete with a fountain in the center and broken mahogany furniture, another smell hit his nose: burnt flesh._

_The boy walked over to where the smell was most pungent and saw the remnants of a scene before him. There was a large scorch mark on the back wall of the lobby. It was still fresh and Johan could feel the lingering heat as he approached. There was a spatter pattern of blood on the decorative molding of the wall, like a person had been slammed back with enough force to break bone and cut skin._

_Johan crouched down to the floor as his gaze roved over the largest piece of evidence: a large pool of blood below the scorched piece of wall. A body had evidently been thrown against the wall and then toppled down to lie upon the floor for quite some time. The amount of blood was large, several pints at least. Johan knew that most men could not survive such significant blood loss, paired with burns so severe that the boy could still smell scorched skin in the air._

_Reaching his hand over the red pool, Johan carefully picked up a grimy piece of metal that had broken off something larger. The boy twirled it in his fingers, studying the thin cylindrical shape. He knew what this belonged to, or better yet, whom it belonged to. It was part of the man’s mask of metal and leather, the same mask he had seen and touched these past winter months. Johan loosened his fingers and let the metal chunk fall back into the red liquid._

_It was then that Johan saw a brilliant flash of white light stream through the large windows. The flash was so blinding that he had to gaze downward to the floor and shield his eyes. A split second later a “boom” followed that shook the ground itself and made some of the building’s windows shutter and crack. The boy stood up and took one last look at the puddle of blood._

_He then swiftly exited through the doors of City Hall, saw the smoke plume of the atom bomb over Gotham Bay, and headed off at a brisk pace._

When Johan deeply exhaled, his eyes opened to reveal their natural golden shade. He heard the footfalls of Gordon coming down the stairs and the man gave the boy a sidelong glare as he passed by the living room to grab the money off the table. He had changed into a t-shirt and jeans.

“Didn’t you hear the knocking, son?” he asked, a tone of tired frustration in his voice. “He’s been pounding on the door for five minutes.”

Johan didn’t answer. He continued to stare unmoving at the cypress trees.

Gradually he began to hear _the voice_ again in his head. This time, instead of speaking of ideals or cleansing fire, it started to laugh. The laugh was slow at first, a quiet chuckle. Soon it rose in volume and vigor to become very loud, distorted and artificial through the constant wheezing of the mask. The name of the silhouette, the owner of _the voice_ , snaked into his mind. It was a name he had not spoken since the Occupation.

_‘Say my name,’_ the relentless voice said. _‘If you do, I will leave you be. For now.’_

The name started to echo in the boy’s thoughts until it became a monstrous ringing in his head, the power of it becoming too much to bear. He put the palms of his hands against his eye sockets, pushing down while swaying his head back and forth.

_No, please, no. I wanted to forget you_ , he pleaded with the voice. _I need to forget you._

The volume of the ringing reached such large proportions that Johan felt tears form in his eyes. It was horrible, and the boy almost couldn’t take it.

_Why are you doing this?_ He asked the voice desperately. It was the same question he had asked the man before, many months ago. The man’s reply was the same now as it was then.

_‘Because you belong to me.’_

The boy removed his hands and examined the painting with a haunted look. The cypress tree on the right side of the group was larger than the others; it was standing alone and not bending to the wind nearly as much as its counterparts. Johan looked upwards to the ceiling and moved his eyes over the patterns of stucco. He deliberately opened his lips and uttered the name almost silently to himself, like a secret.

“Bane.”

The ringing ceased.


	2. Chapter 2

_9 months earlier, November_

Johan was perched on top of the Two Brothers Bagels building at the intersection of 33 Street and 7th Avenue. The bagel shop was situated next to the above ground Gotham Railway and Johan watched as a train rumbled past on the tracks, blowing a gust of wind against his face. It was a chilly November night and small flurries of snow were whipping through the air. The boy let out a small huff of breath and pulled his hoodie further over his head. He watched the hot air from his mouth form into a white wisp in front of him. His jeans were speckled with water from the snow and gradually becoming damp. Johan didn’t mind the cold though; he would rather wear his thin hooded sweater and jeans instead of dressing in a thick, puffy coat. The nanomachines pumping through his blood helped regulate his temperature and keep him warm in the frigid night air.

The street was devoid of any activity. There was no apartment housing on this block and all of the shops were closed. Businesses in this part of Gotham knew that if they stayed open after dark the chance of the police being close to assist in robbery or related theft was almost nil. Thus, the street was deserted and Johan had nothing to watch except snow hitting the pavement.

_Hurry up, Mr. Cowell_ , he thought.

Johan was growing bored with waiting for his target. The man of interest, Victor Cowell, was a small time crook and low-level money runner for the Falconi syndicate. The mob family was using the dilapidated laundromat across the street as a drop-off and pickup point for their dirty money.

The boy was sitting on the edge of the roof, one of his legs hanging over the side swinging back and forth. He wasn’t worried about being seen by Cowell when the man eventually made his arrival; it was dark, and the railway ran between the streets to block any view the man had of the opposite roof. When he entered the laundromat to pick up a case of money and leave he would be none the wiser to Johan’s presence. That is, until the boy wanted to make that presence known.

The only diversion for the evening so far was the police chatter Johan had been listening to over his hacking device. It was a small computer audio box, about the size of an iPod, that the boy had used to highjack the Gotham Police CB radio waves. The cackling of voices was still present in his ear buds connected to the audio gadget, reporting on the cleanup from the evening’s fiasco.

_“…The three suspects apprehended are being transported to holding. Location of escaped suspect on motorcycle unknown. Pursuit of Batman still in effect. All aerial units focus search on a one mile radius outside of the intersection of 55 th street and 10th avenue…”_

Johan could still see numerous police helicopters in the distance, their lights scanning rooftops while the rotating blades created a whomping echo that traveled through the air. No civilians had been harmed in the ground pursuit of the suspects on motorcycle; however, there were three reported casualties at the Gotham Stock Exchange. Of course, the event of the night that was causing the most uproar was not the heist at the Stock Exchange: it was the return of the Batman, the first sighting in a two-year dry spell without the vigilante.

_About time you got off your ass, Bruce_ , Johan said to himself.

Bruce didn’t know the boy was in town. Johan had only come back to Gotham a week earlier. He had stayed to himself, renting a cheap apartment close to the Narrows. He and Bruce had not left on bad terms, per se, but Johan had refrained from contacting his close friend. It was clear that the boy wasn’t going to convince the Dark Knight to don his cape and cowl. That was until tonight, apparently. Maybe Johan would get in touch with Bruce after this; there must be a good reason for Bruce to drag himself out the newly rebuilt Wayne Manor after his long hiatus.

_I wonder what it is_ , the boy mused. _Maybe he’s finally come to terms with Rachel’s death. You can’t save everyone, Bruce. And that’s okay._

At least that’s what Johan told himself. The boy knew it's impossible to think of yourself as a savior. If you do, any failure is devastating. Johan had moved past that line of thinking a long time ago. He had seen too many violent and senseless deaths of the innocent that if he tried to save everyone he would end up beating himself into the ground out of guilt and shame. But he couldn’t blame Bruce for his feelings; the death of someone you love burns deep in your soul, worse than any bodily wound. Johan closed his eyes, dredging up the still regretful memory.

_“Bruce, listen to me, please. You can still do this. You can still help the city,” Johan said as he stood before the man._

_They were both in the penthouse, Bruce sitting on the couch with his injured leg propped up on pillows while Johan paced before him. The man looked like a husk of himself. Even with his muscular build he appeared tiny and crumpled with his shoulders and head hunched over. The usually bright and intelligent eyes were hazy and seemed to be staring at nothing. Just simply staring._

_The boy had just returned from a night on patrol. Thanks to the Joker and the untimely death of Harvey Dent, the Batman was now declared a murderer of five policemen and the APB for him was still on high alert. When Johan sported his Shadow garb, the associated APB over Batman’s head fell on Shadow’s as well; he had to keep even more to the darkness to avoid police detection, just as his vigilante name implied._

_Still too soon to safely contact Gordon without drawing suspicion to the newly appointed Commissioner, the boy had been listening into the CB radio and subduing any petty crime (robberies at gas stations, small store burglaries) to leave the suspects practically gift wrapped for when the police arrived on the scene_

_Johan had left Bruce at the penthouse on the couch that night just to return in the early morning and find the man exactly how he left him. The man hadn’t even shifted positions. The only evidence of activity was a tray of food that Alfred had placed on the coffee table beside him. Bruce hadn’t touched it._

_Bruce remained silent and Johan grew frustrated. “Can you hear me? Are you listening? Even if you can’t come out on patrol until your leg heals you can still be useful.”_

_No reply from the man. Johan began pacing again, racking his brain for a way to make Bruce respond. The boy closed in on the couch and sat down on the coffee table next to it, causing the utensils and glass on the tray of food to clatter from being jarred. Johan was staring at Bruce’s face but the man refused to meet his gaze. Tentatively, Johan reached out to grab the man’s hand; Bruce didn’t respond to the touch._

_Johan started to speak in a low, quiet tone. “Bruce, the people of Gotham still need you. Gordon needs you. You can still help.”_

_Bruce turned his neck almost imperceptible towards the large penthouse windows that revealed the wide expanse of Gotham below. The sun was just starting to rise and was filling the room with light. It was a beautiful view that Bruce often stared at for long periods of time. However, Johan had the impression that while the man used to look down upon the city with possessiveness, his glazed expression now only saw Gotham as a burden. Bruce opened his mouth slowly._

_“I can’t help them. Not anymore,” he spoke quietly._

_Johan sighed and tried again. “You can. You can’t save everyone, Bruce. Even if...” the boy paused here and gave the man’s hand a press, “If it’s someone you love.”_

_Bruce pursed his lips and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why should I keep on breaking myself each night if the people I’m doing it for die? Why, if I couldn’t even keep Rachel safe? She died because of me.”_

_Now Bruce was turned towards Johan, his glare fixed on the boy's face. Johan felt the man’s hand slowly pull away from his grasp. Johan didn’t say anything. Bruce continued._

_“Eventually Gordon will die too, gunned down by some lunatic in the street because I’m too far away to get there in time. Or Alfred will be walking to Wayne Tower and be stabbed by a mugger while I’m stuck in a pointless finance meeting. And you, Joe…”_

_He trailed off and stopped speaking. His arm shifted and he lifted his hand to cup it against the side of the boy’s face. He looked as if he was going to break._

_“I can’t let you die,” the man finished._

_Johan put his hand over Bruce’s. “Why did you become Batman, Bruce?”_

_The man averted his eyes and looked down at the floor. “To fight the injustice of the world. To right the wrong of my parents’ deaths. I thought that by sparing others of the pain I felt it would ease that same pain in me. But,” he returned his hand to his lap. “Now…I don’t know why.”_

_The boy began speaking, choosing his words carefully. “To be an idea, Bruce, to fight to become a symbol, it’s a weighty cause.” He stopped to brush the unwashed hair out of the man’s green eyes._

_“For people like us, with our ability to help others more than most, I think that it’s our job to use that ability for good,” Johan continued. “The pain you try to ease inside you is normal. It’s the reason why you fight, why you’re Batman.”_

_Bruce shook his head. “I thought being Batman would help me keep away the nightmares, that I wouldn’t see my parents’ lifeless bodies in an alleyway in my dreams. And it did keep them away for a while. But now I lay down to see Rachel’s burning body in the rubble. Batman hasn’t helped others,” he closed his eyes, “or me. I was foolish to think it would. I was just being selfish.”_

_“No one would call Batman ‘selfish’, Bruce,” Johan said. “You’ve done good for so many people. This city is better because of you.”_

_The man shook his head again. “No, Joe. You were right. Trying to become a symbol for justice is too much a weight for anyone, including me. All this time I was fighting against crime in the name of justice, but now I see it was for me. Only for me, to ease my pain.”_

_“Even if that were true,” Johan replied, “it still doesn’t mean Batman is a fraud. Whatever you thought your intentions were the end result was still the same. Hundreds of people on those explosive-rigged boats are living thanks to you. You can’t honestly tell me that a selfish man would risk his life for strangers.”_

_“Yes, Joe, that’s what I’m telling you. I’ve gone about this the wrong way. Batman was meant to be an idea - not a man, but instead a concept for justice that people could visually grasp. And I’ve failed to become that. Now all Batman represents is a murderer in a cape.”_

_The boy tightened his hands into fists. This conversation was spiraling into a study in morality. So what if Bruce had selfish intentions? Every good act that people do is for their own benefit. No one has ever given money to a homeless man or helped an old woman cross the street for no reason. People do good deeds because it makes them feel good and gives them self-gratification. It’s the nature of humanity, simple as that. Johan knows that Bruce is aware of this; the man is a brilliant detective due to his insight into human psychology, able to be multiple steps ahead of criminals because he knows how they think. Maybe not in the case of the Joker, but Johan didn’t want to think about what went on in that guy’s mind._

_I know the real reason Bruce it saying all this, Johan thought. This whole conversation has been a mask for the real reason he hasn’t moved off the couch. Bruce is hurting, very badly, from the guilt and shame of Rachel’s death. Being Batman is a heavy burden to bear, even for someone as determined and resilient as the man before him. It’s understandable, but talking about pure intentions is getting this conversation nowhere._

_Time to confront the man head on._

_Johan spoke up in harsher tone. “Okay, enough of this psychoanalyzing yourself, Bruce. It’s not doing anything for you.”_

_The man’s face contorted into hurt before transforming into anger. He opened his mouth for a retort but Johan cut him off._

_“Whatever you say about your motives doesn’t matter. The truth about this is that you just don’t want to be hurt anymore. I get it, you loved Rachel, and she’s gone now. The guilt you feel for her death is normal. But it wasn’t your fault that she died. Or even that Harvey died. Batman can’t save everyone.”_

_“But I’m supposed to,” Bruce said heatedly. “That’s Batman’s job.”_

_“No, it isn’t. Batman’s only job is to be a symbol of hope for the city. So that the people know someone is on their side against the crime and corruption.”_

_“And I’m not even that anymore,” Bruce said, the anger leaving his expression as he returned to his previous sullen state. “If I’m not that symbol, and I can’t spare those I love from dying, then I have no more reason to be Batman.”_

_The boy blinked slowly, comprehending the meaning of that last statement._

_“Do you really mean that?” Johan asked quietly._

_Bruce bowed his head down low in defeat. He appeared calm except Johan could see the muscles tensing underneath his robe._

_“Yes.” Bruce’s fists’ clenched. “You may not understand, but as Batman I make it my responsibility to make sure those I care for stay alive. What I feel now after losing Rachel, it’s almost too much for me. It’s as if I lost my parents again. If I continue to take on this responsibility as Batman, I won’t be able to live with myself when my friends and loved ones die one by one.”_

_Johan started to speak, but Bruce raised a hand. “Wait, let me finish. What you are asking me to be, Joe, what I thought I could be as well at the start, is a symbol that persists no matter what the cost. I thought I would be able to persevere though all the losses I would encounter because the ideals I strived for were bigger than me. Better even. I see now that I was wrong. I’m not strong enough. It is selfish, I know, but I can’t bear it.”_

_Bruce took a long, deep breath, understanding the full weight of his coming words._

_“I can’t be Batman. Not anymore."_

_The statement hung in the air. The muffled noise of traffic and people outside went silent to Johan’s ears, as if the city itself had heard Bruce’s declaration and shrunk in response. Johan didn’t know what to do. Bruce was one of the strongest people he knew, so steadfast and confident in his means to make the world right. He devoted years of his life to making himself a beacon for justice and he fought so many battles to further his cause for good. For Bruce to abandon both his purpose and Gotham, the city he considered his duty to protect, was something Johan had trouble comprehending. Though, the boy did understand one thing: Bruce had become truly lost._

_Johan stood up off the table. “What will you do with yourself, then?”_

_There were a few moments of silence before Bruce answered. “I don’t know. Perhaps devote my time to Wayne Enterprises. I can make more of a difference there than with a suit and cowl.”_

_The man looked into the boy’s eyes. “What will you do, Joe?”_

_Johan didn’t answer. When he and Batman had first met, the boy told him that he was here to help Batman fight crime. But with no Batman left, nothing was here to keep him. Johan deeply cared for the man and that would never change. However, if this was the end of Batman, then this marked the time for him to move on and help others more in need. It was a promise he made to himself long ago._

_He bent down and placed a chaste kiss on Bruce’s lips. Johan moved the man’s head back so he could look into Bruce’s hazel-green eyes as he carded his hands through the brunette hair._

_“If Batman ever comes back, I’ll be there alongside him.”_

_Johan got up and opened the penthouse doors, hearing them softly click in place as he closed them from the outside. In the outer hallway he stared at the doors._

_“Goodbye, Bruce,” he whispered._

_The boy left Gotham by nightfall._

Johan sighed deeply. He still loved Bruce; he missed him. It was hard for him to leave the man after all the devastation with the Joker. But the boy knew that he would not be able to help the man recover if Bruce was unwilling to put on the cape and cowl again. So Johan had left. If anyone had felt the brunt loss of the city’s two vigilantes it was Jim Gordon.

_I wonder how he’s handling Batman’s reappearance tonight_ , Johan mused. The Commissioner was probably having a field day warding off the press. Johan figured he should probably stop by the police headquarters as the Shadow to make Gordon aware that another vigilante was back in town.

The boy’s gaze shot to the end of the street as he saw a lone headlight cruising towards him. The unique sound of a motorcycle engine made its way to his ears.

_Interesting_ , Johan thought. _You don’t see many motorcycles in this part of town_.

The district for this particular stakeout didn’t have many expensive cars or other vehicles; this block was close to the Narrows and most people couldn’t afford anything high-end. Even more, a motorcycle would be a hot target for thieves. So why was one driving around this neighborhood, or as Johan soon noticed, slowing down to a stop?

Johan swiftly hoisted his hanging leg back onto the roof and crouched down low behind the ledge. He peered over to the see the oncoming light growing brighter as it approached. The driver was wearing a helmet with a dark visor as he halted the bike two buildings to the left of the laundromat across the street. Johan watched as the man got off and propped out the kickstand with his foot. It was an upscale bike model: BMW S1000RR, a sportbike with bright red tint.

_Definitely not something you’d see around here_ , the boy thought. _What’s this guy up to?_

The man crouched down on the side of the bike closer to Johan. Even from far away the boy could see that the man was very large in height and weight, at least six foot three and two hundred seventy pounds by Johan’s estimation. This couldn’t be Victor Cowell since the body type didn’t match; Johan had done his homework and Cowell was as scrawny as they came.

Carefully, the large man took one gloved hand and grabbed at the edge of an outer plate of the bike. He started to pull while bracing his other hand on the bike seat. The metal sheet began to ease up until Johan heard the snap as it broke off, clanging to the asphalt and exposing inner tubes and wires. The man fished inside the bike for a moment before pulling out a thick, rubber tube. 

Johan knew exactly what it was: the gas line.

Reaching into his pocket while still holding the tubing in one hand, the other hand emerged holding something. The man flicked his wrist to reveal the blade of a knife. He quickly moved his hand to slice through the tubing. Gasoline started pouring onto the street.

The boy looked on at the unfolding scene. _This is strange_ , he thought. _What is he doing?_

Johan received an answer when the man delved into his pocket again and came out with a rectangular piece of metal. He flipped open the top and pushed his thumb down on the lighter, a small flame coming to life.

Then the boy knew. _He’s going to torch the bike. But why?_

That’s when Johan realized he should have known earlier. He had heard it on the police CB radio: _“Location of escaped suspect on motorcycle unknown.”_ Now all of the seemingly strange happenings made sense: the man was here on an empty block with no witnesses to get rid of the evidence, meaning the bike.

_Well_ , Johan thought dryly, _his location is known now_.

Johan didn’t have much time to think of a plan of action. He didn’t have any of his gear or a weapon. His stealth suit was locked up in a storage unit along with his fighting stick. He hadn’t planned on using anything to apprehend Cowell, only the surprise of an air attack and precision combat. To stop this man he wasn’t entirely sure if he could go without. Johan’s nanomachines enhanced the strength of his muscles for bodily attacks but the boy was rather thinly built with sinewy muscle. The man was so large that it would be a close call in terms of strength.

The hand-to-hand combat aspect was where Johan put his confidence. His skills in martial arts were beyond comparison to most in the world. What he lacked in strength he made up for in his fighting prowess. The added speed and agility from the nanomachines were also an extra bonus. The only opponents Johan considered in class with himself were those with advanced instruction and discipline, like the Batman. Basically, even if this helmeted man was trained in fighting, he didn’t stand a chance.

_I’ll go for it. Three people at the Stock Exchange are dead because of him_ , he thought. Though the boy was practically entering a confrontation blindly in regards to his assailant, he was certain in his ability to take the man down. _The element of surprise will be on my side_.

The boy drew a breath and stood up, moving stealthy as he stepped onto the ledge. He bent his legs and silently jumped through the air onto the steel support beams of the railway. Johan remained in shadow, hidden behind a thick metal pillar. Now he was 30 feet above the road with the rail tracks over his head. He paused to watch the biker.

The man waited a few more moments to let the pool of gas grow larger. He dropped the lighter, flame still flickering, into the puddle and walked backwards about ten feet in the direction of Johan before stopping. The man hadn’t yet removed his helmet.

Instantly the gas was ignited, the fire quickly spreading on the gas-soaked street and traveling up the cut gas line that was lying on the ground. There was a small burst of light as the fire traveled up the tubing and made its way into the gas tank, causing the bike to erupt into flame. The large biker stood unmoving in the middle of the street as he watched the motorcycle burn. It didn’t seem as if he was going to leave anytime soon.

Johan looked back and forth at both ends of the snowy street; it was still empty. The boy hoped that the man would head up the road towards him and underneath the support pillar so that he could pounce down from above. If he went the opposite direction then Johan would have to pursue him on top of the tracks; he wouldn’t risk following underneath the railway on the metal girders since a loose beam could shake and rattle noisily as he moved.

As the boy slowly stood up from his crouch to wait in a standing position, the man cocked his head to the left facing the bagel shop. Johan froze.

“You can come out now,” the man spoke and turned around, looking directly up at where Johan was concealed behind the vertical girder. “I know you have been watching me.”

The boy’s eyes widened in surprise. _So much for the sneak attack_ , he thought.

Gone was the element of surprise; the man was indeed speaking to him, his voice traveling up to the railway.

_He’s very skilled to have noticed me_ , Johan thought. _I underestimated him_.

The man’s apparently expert detection ability was not the unsettling part to Johan. Instead, it was his voice.

Something was entirely wrong with the deep sound coming out the man’s mouth, still hidden by the bike helmet over his head.

His words seemed obscured and artificial, like he was wearing the kind of protective chemistry mask used when working with toxic fumes. The man inhaled after speaking and Johan could distinctly hear a raspy, wheezing noise, as if there was something blocking the air from entering his lungs.

Johan waited in the darkness, still cloaked by his cover. He remained silent. The man spoke again.

“Come down from there,” he rasped in a tone that Johan figured was meant to be coaxing. The man continued to come closer until he was almost directly under the steel beam.

Johan’s previous estimation of his size proved correct; the man was enormous. He had practically no neck due to his muscle bulk and each arm appeared massively thick under the thin leather of his biker jacket. His gait when he came towards Johan was also revealing. The boy had always considered the way a man walked to be a decent measure of his combat capability. In this case, the man had a grace and smoothness to his steps that seemed incongruent with his immense size. He had the type of walk present in accomplished fighters; it attested to a mastery over their own bodily movements that only comes from the most extreme discipline.

_So he’s an experienced fighter, then_ , Johan thought.

The boy was intrigued, something that happened infrequently. Not only did the man know he was being watched, he also appeared to be adequately trained in combat. This man wasn’t just some criminal thug who robs a Stock Exchange and then calls it a day. No, Johan had the impression he was much more than that. He was positive this large adversary was the reason for Bruce’s return as the Batman this night. It was too much of a coincidence not to be.

_Who is he?_ There were so many questions about the mysterious man running through the boy’s mind. The distorted voice, and everything else about the man, was an enigma.

“Don’t be afraid. I desire to speak with you,” the man pressed from below. The distinct wheezing of his breath was even more audible up close.

The last thing Johan felt was fear. This man had peaked his interest. It had been a long time since the boy encountered someone as compelling as the man beneath him.

_If I let this guy go free_ , he speculated, _then I bet there’s more trouble in store for Gotham_. _The least I can do is take this guy out to help Bruce_ , he thought.

Then he smiled to himself. _And_ _I want to see what this guy is made of_.

Before the man could speak up again, Johan swung down from the metal beam and held on with his hands for a moment, swaying to and fro. He then dropped to the street in a crouch before standing up, his eyes never leaving the man; fifteen feet separated them.

“Shame about your bike,” Johan said and directed his gaze to the heaping mound of burning rubber and metal. Smoke was billowing into the air, cascading high over the building rooftops.

“It was a nice model,” the boy stated. “Expensive, too.”

The man was studying Johan intently, or at least Johan assumed since he was still wearing the helmet. The visor of the helmet was tinted black and Johan couldn’t see the man’s face. The boy pulled down his hood, ruffling his matted down chestnut hair with a hand. The snow had soaked through the fabric of the sweater and his wet hair appeared darker. The man still stood there silent and unmoving, the only sound present was the wheezing of his breath.

“I can’t let you go free,” Johan continued. “Not after what you did tonight.”

A strange noise reached Johan and he realized that it was laughter. The man was chuckling at him.

_Not my intended reaction_ , he thought.

The man stopped his laughing and spoke. “You are young to have such confidence. Tell me, boy, are you ready to die?”

Johan smirked. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

“That is what we are doing now,” he stated. “However, we both know I cannot let you live.”

“I haven’t seen your face.”

The man chuckled again. “You seem like an intelligent child. If I were to let the Shadow go from here, that would create…complications for me.”

Johan focused his eyes on the man.

_How does he know I’m the Shadow?_ He wondered. _I’m not even wearing my gear._ The man seemed to read his thoughts.

“It was not difficult to deduce that you are Batman’s prized companion,” he wheezed. “You display talented stealth techniques, lurking up there in the shadows. I wondered when I would meet you. It would seem as if fate has delivered you into my hands.”

The man raised both arms and his hands were facing outwards towards the boy. “It would be foolish of me not to accept a gift so willingly offered.”

_So he wants a fight_ , Johan mused. _I’m up for it._

“Fate, huh?” Johan said. He kept his face placid. “Well then,” he told the man, “you shouldn’t keep it waiting.”

The man began to stride forward, his combat boots barely making any noise on the road. Johan stood still as he approached. When he was an arms length away the man sprung into movement with a side punch aimed for Johan’s head. The boy ducked and rolled, moving to the side and striking out with a kick. It hit the man’s side with a _thud_ and the man stepped back a few feet from the force. Johan took this as a chance to run forward and sweep out the man’s legs. He almost made contact when a large forearm blocked his leg.

_He’s fast_ , the boy thought as he speedily rolled back to a safe distance.

The man wasted no time and was already upon him by the time Johan was upright. A large leg swung at him and Johan jumped up to complete a backwards flip, his boot hitting the man’s helmet and causing a loud crack to ring in the air. The visor of the helmet shattered but did not break, riddling the dark tinted glass with jagged lines.

_He can’t see well_ , Johan thought, _now’s my chance to end this_.

The boy ran forward and saw the man ready to block another attack to his head; changing tactics, Johan dropped down onto his hands and thrust out his legs against the man’s shins. The boy moved away as the man dropped to his knees before rounding back and placing a forceful kick to his back; the man grunted and dropped to his side. Johan went to kick his back again when a hand shot up and grabbed the boy’s boot. When he tried to twist away the hand didn’t relent.

He felt the man pull him downwards and Johan had to catch his upper body with his arms so that he didn’t bash his head against the asphalt. The boy kept tugging his leg to get free but he could barely loosen the man’s vice-like grip. He hit the man several times in the side with his free leg but still the man held on.

_He’s stronger than I thought_ , Johan realized frustratingly.

The man used his advantage and landed a punch to Johan’s thigh; the pain was excruciating. A blow like that to a normal person would have surely broken bone. But the nanomachines in Johan’s blood made him anything but normal.

The man went to punch again but Johan caught the meaty fist with both of his smaller hands. Before the man could remove his fist from Johan’s grasp, the boy used the man’s hand as leverage and pulled upwards to swing his entire body up and headbutt his opponent. The damaged glass on the visor broke and Johan could hear a strange hissing noise erupt from beneath the helmet.

The grasp on Johan’s boot finally eased off and he wrenched free, quickly rolling to the side and standing up. The boy was breathing heavily and didn’t want to continue his attack just yet; he needed to rethink his strategy. The man was far too quick and strong for his previous straight-at-him approach to prove effective. Johan felt warm blood trickling down his forehead and into his eyes. He reached up and pulled out a piece of broken glass that was embedded in his skin, never taking his gaze off of his assailant. The boy flicked the sliver of bloodied glass onto the road.

“You are strong for one so small,” the man said with effort. “I did not foresee this.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” the boy said dryly.

“Training alone does not account for your ability,” he wheezed.

Johan focused his eyes on the man. “I don’t have any  _ability_.”

“Quite the contrary,” said the rasping voice. “Your strength nearly matches mine, and yet you are only a boy.”

The man was crouched down and hunched over. He brought his large hands up, carefully inching off the helmet. Shards of tinted glass fell and clinked on the road as he slowly brought it over his head. His breathing was more ragged now and he seemed struggling with each inhale. When the helmet was finally off, Johan’s eyes widened with surprise for the second time that night.

_What in the world is that?_ Johan wondered as he continued to stare.

The boy was off to the side but had a good view of his attacker’s profile. The man was wearing a strange contraption over his face and head, covering everything save his eyes, upper cheekbones, and the sides of his bald skull. It seemed to be made of tough leather with metal tubes in place over where the man’s mouth would be. Two of the metal cylinders were sliced in half and emitting a gas that was turning into white mist in the cold air. The man prodded the tubes, his hand hovering over the hissing vapor.

Johan was so enraptured that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. However, he did hear the click of a gun hammer being pulled down.

But instead of leaping into action to dodge a bullet, Johan stayed put.

_If this person was going to shoot me right off the bat,_ Johan figured _, they would have done it already._

So the boy waited until the person spoke.

“Both of you, put your hands up and turn around slowly, or else you’re dead,” a nervous voice sounded loudly from behind.

Johan raised both his arms, moving carefully around to see the scrawny form of Victor Cowell holding an HK USP. Cowell was standing at the opening of an alleyway directly adjacent to the laundromat. He was behind both Johan and the still crouched man, aiming back and forth between them. The boy didn’t hear his arrival because he had probably snuck up through the alleyway, the thick brick walls of the two side buildings muffling his footsteps.

_He finally decides to show up_ , Johan thought with little amusement. _Good handgun, though, I’ll give him that._

The unexpected arrival of the biker, who turned out to be a mysterious masked man with fighting skills that rivaled even Batman, had effectively pushed all thought of why Johan was here in the first place out of his mind. The laundromat along with the money pickup by Cowell had been placed on the backburner. That is, until now.

_Now I have a gun pointed at my head_ , Johan remarked inwardly.

But a firearm aimed at him hardly made Johan nervous. If there were multiple guns that was never good, but one he could handle. Thanks to the nanomachines, Johan was able to detect the slightest movement in a trigger finger and know exactly when to dodge a bullet. Shooting a stationary paper target at a range was one thing; hitting a mobile target was a different game altogether. And John planned to be mobile.

“What’s wrong with the big guy?” He asked Johan. Cowell’s eyes were blinking anxiously. “There’s something on his face. What the fuck is it?”

“I don’t know,” Johan said, speaking for the first time since Cowell arrived. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

The gunman looked miffed. “Hey, big guy! Didn’t you hear me? Put your hands up now!”

The huge man said nothing and continued in his labored wheezing. His hands moved over the back of the mask as if he were adjusting something. Cowell’s eyes twitched back to Johan.

“So you’re Marcone’s guys? Here to kill me and take the fucking money?” He shifted nervously on his feet, eyes shooting back and forth between them. “Tell me!”

_Ah_. Johan had discovered the reason why he hadn’t been shot in the back earlier. _Cowell wants information first, to see if we’ re working for the Marcone family. Then he’ll shoot us._

If it were true, that Johan and the masked man were thugs for Marcone, then Cowell would return to his mob lackeys and start a war. The Falconi mob, whose money Cowell was coming to the laundromat to pick up, was a rival for the Marcone family one district over. There was a lot of unrest between the competing mobs and blood had already been shed because of their petty squabbles. If Falconi found out that Marcone had sent hitmen to kill his money runner, then people were going to die.

_Can’t let that happen. Why can’t mob families just get along?_ Johan questioned to himself. _It’d make my night a lot easier_.

“We’re not in Marcone’s gang,” Johan sighed. 

“Oh yeah? So you just happened to be here on an empty street. _This_ empty street, right by my fucking pickup point?”

“Listen man, I have no idea who you are,” Johan said in a placating tone. Not exactly true, but Cowell didn’t need to know that.

“We just…” Johan continued while thinking of his earlier stakeout position, “were on our way to get some bagels. Too bad Two Brothers Bagels are closed. Guess me and my…”

The boy gestured to the masked man, “…friend will have to come back in the morning.”

Johan’s face remained void of emotion but he tried not to laugh at the irony. _Friend_ , he thought. _Nice one_ , _Johan_.

“Bullshit. I figured those bastards would pull something so I brought this.” He gestured to his gun and smiled thinly. “I came _prepared_.”

“How smart of you,” Johan said dryly.

“Watch your mouth, you little fuck,” Cowell said angrily. He was about to say something else when his eyes darted behind Johan. The boy craned his neck around to look and saw that the large man was slowly getting to his feet.

“It is not very honorable of you,” he wheezed as he dusted some remaining glass off his military fatigue pants, “to shoot an unarmed boy. Especially one who is not worthless…”

The cut tubes were no longer hissing and the leaking gas had stopped. He inhaled once more before finishing, “Unlike you.”

Cowell’s face looked confused and scared as he heard the man’s deformed voice for the first time. He took a half step back before aiming his gun with more vigor at the brute.

“Put your hands up, you fucking freak!” Cowell said, visibly trembling. Johan figured Cowell hadn’t noticed how huge and menacing the man was until he saw his full, standing height. And the mask, Johan knew, would be a disarming sight for anyone.

The man rasped, “I think not.”

“Do it!” He aimed his gun back at Johan. “Or I’ll shoot the kid!”

“Then shoot him,” the man stated simply. “After he is dead, then I will kill you.”

The calm and assured tone of the large man’s death threat seemed to push the already rattled Cowell over the edge. Johan had been closely watching the man’s trigger finger, waiting for the telltale muscle movement that meant he was going to fire.

Cowell’s finger shifted.

_Now!_ Johan thought.

The boy saw the light from the muzzle before he heard the shot. Johan threw himself down and dove to the right. He felt a sharp burn above his ear but he did not stop, running as he felt another bullet whiz behind him. A third shot resulted in the shatter of glass from a nearby store window and Johan flung his body behind the cover of a vertical railway beam. Another shot was fired, but it didn’t hit anywhere near Johan. In fact, it didn’t come from Cowell’s direction at all. There was a _thump_ as a body hit the ground, followed by a pained whining noise.

Johan covertly looked around the edge of the metal beam to see Cowell flat on his back, lying on the street. He was rocking back and forth on the ground, moaning as he clutched a hand to his left shoulder. Blood was already soaking through his winter coat. The boy glanced to his left to see the masked man holding a Smith and Wesson M&P in one hand. The man started to walk towards Cowell as the criminal lay whimpering, the dark patch on his clothing growing larger.

As he followed with his eyes, Johan noticed the man’s walk was no longer as fluid as it was during their scuffle. Whereas before he had stepped with a grace that belied his size, he was now slower, with his torso slightly stooped over. He was in obvious discomfort.

_I didn’t think I had even injured him_ , Johan thought. _He seemed fine until…_

Breaking of glass, the hissing noise, and puffs of escaping gas: _the mask_ , Johan grasped.

Damage to the mask had resulted in damage to the man. Johan wished he had more time to ponder this development, but the masked man was now close to Cowell and raising his gun.

Johan had to do something. Cowell was most definitely scum of the city, but he couldn’t let the masked man murder him in cold blood. He stepped out from his cover.

“You can’t kill him,” Johan stated. The man stopped and looked at him, his gaze keenly focused.

For the first time, Johan saw the man’s eyes. They were a dark blue, or maybe gray, he couldn’t know for sure with the inadequate lighting. But more importantly, they were not cold or calculating, as Johan had seen in they eyes of so many killers. They were different, almost…

_Kind_ , Johan thought. The humane expression was not something the boy was expecting to find in a man who had blatantly wanted to kill him not five minutes ago.

“He would kill you if your positions were reversed,” the man stated.

“Yeah, well, I’m not him,” Johan replied as he felt the part of his skull above his year. Fresh blood was running down his temple from where the bullet had grazed him and almost hit its mark.

_Close_ , Johan thought, _but not close enough to enough to kill me_.

The wailing of sirens began to suddenly travel though the air. Johan looked to the destroyed remains of the motorcycle and the smoke still billowing up into the sky. Someone in the apartments a block over must have called the fire department. The howling of the sirens continued to grow louder. They would be here soon.

“Let him live,” Johan said firmly. “After his failure tonight, the Falconi family will probably get rid of him anyway for not getting their money.”

“How…do you know…about,” Cowell started before trailing off into a groan of agony.

The man gazed at him, those blue-gray eyes searching. “As you wish. This man is of no consequence to me. I merely wished to right his wrong against you.” 

_What does he mean by that?_ Johan wondered. _Have I proven myself to him somehow that he feels he should defend my honor?_

The masked man looked once more at Johan before eventually putting the gun back into an inside pocket of his jacket.

“If he remains alive and I cross his path, I will kill him for you then,” he rasped. “And I will show you his body.” His eyes shined with a predatory fierceness.

“Um,” Johan floundered, “you don’t have to do that. Kill him, or anything else.”

The tracks above started to shake, signaling an approaching train. There was a moment of lingering silence between the two of them. Johan didn’t know what to say to the man; he apparently didn’t seem all that interested with killing him anymore. And even if the man wanted to, Johan wouldn’t be able to fight back; Victor Cowell was slowly dying on the street as his blood continued to pump out of his wound. The boy needed to help him, sooner rather than later.

“Your skills are commendable,” the man wheezed with effort. “I see why the Batman chose you as his ally.”

He lifted his arm and tapped the severed metal cylinders. “Many have tried to defeat me, few of them coming as close as you.”

“You’ve had plenty of chances to shoot me,” Johan said. “But you haven't. Why?”

The man had a fond look in his eyes, as if he were a proud father looking at his son. Johan thought it very strange.

“I do not believe that would be a suitable death for a worthy opponent such as you,” he said. “Your end must not be met by a mere gun, but by the hands of a better man.”

“So, this guy,” Johan stated as he pointed to Cowell, “can be shot because he isn’t _worthy_?”

The man’s eyes gleamed. “Yes.”

The wailing of sirens grew louder; that mixed with the oncoming train made the area too loud for conversation. The masked man turned his head in the direction of the sirens, the snow landing and melting on the leather of his mask. He began to walk away from the boy towards the opposite end of the street, his back to Johan as he went. The boy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Aren’t you going to try and kill me?” He yelled after the man. When he received no answer, Johan loudly blurted out what had been running through his head during this entire ordeal.

“Who are you?”

The man slowed to a halt and turned halfway around. His eyes were crinkled.

_Is he smiling?_ Johan wondered. The mask made it impossible to tell.

“We will meet again soon, I am sure,” he called. “By that time, you will know.”

He turned back around and continued his path down the street.

Johan was urged to follow, but he heard Cowell’s pained noises growing fainter. The criminal was losing blood and the cold air and snow were making him shiver uncontrollably. The boy went over and knelt down beside the man, taking off his hoodie and using it as a barrier to apply pressure to the gunshot wound. When Johan looked down the street again the masked man had disappeared; the only thing left on the empty road was the swirling snow illuminated by the bright light of the rumbling train.

The fire trucks soon arrived and doused the remaining skeleton of the bike with their hoses. Emergency services came soon after and relieved Johan of his medical duty. The boy babbled some made-up nonsense to the police about being close by and hearing gunshots, only to arrive and find this poor man bleeding on the street. When they asked about his bloodied forehead and temple, Johan said he had an abusive stepfather. Cowell had been unconscious for quite some time and was unable to make any objections to the boy’s version of the story.

Before any personnel had reached the scene, Johan had took precautions and chucked Cowell’s gun down a dumpster in the nearby alley. It would be suspicious for a gun to be placed so closely to a wounded man; the police would have put Johan in handcuffs as a safeguard, just in case the boy turned out to be the shooter playing at Good Samaritan.

A young detective put Johan in the backseat of a cruiser; he would take him as a witness back to GCPD headquarters for questioning. He left the boy in the car to step away and have a quick word with a crime scene analyst. When the detective returned the backseat was empty.


	3. Chapter 3

_Present Day, September_

Johan heard Gordon thanking the deliveryman and shutting the front door. He listened to footsteps and steeled his face into a neutral expression right before Gordon popped his head into the living room; his arm was laden with a large takeout bag.

“You ready to eat, son? It smells great. Hurry up and…” he said before trailing off mid sentence. The man took a step into the room and studied Johan; the boy could see the inquisitive blue eyes behind his glasses.

 _Damn it! Gordon can always see right through me_ , Johan thought with exasperation.

Instances like this were when Johan wished the man wasn’t such a good detective.

“Something’s wrong,” Gordon said as he walked closer. “Did you see something on the news?”

Gordon looked over to the muted television; they were airing an interview between an anchorman and some economist. No breaking story about a blown up building or high profile murder of some kind, just mundane nightly news broadcasting. The man turned back to Johan in questioning scrutiny.

“What happened, Joe? Something’s wrong, I can see it in your face,” he said.

 _Something is very wrong_ , Johan thought. _Bane has come back from the dead_.

Bane’s raspy words from that November night were still fresh in his mind: _“I will kill him for you…and I will show you his body.”_

The deceased body of Victor Cowell was found in the exact location where he almost bled to death ten months previously. It was the place Johan and Bane had first met. In the crime scene photos the boy could make out the derelict laundromat and the storefront of Two Brothers Bagels. The location paired with method of murder, Cowell’s snapped neck covered with bruises left by monstrous hands, left no doubt in Johan’s mind that this man’s death was a message straight from Bane; a message to Johan that he was alive.

 _How chivalrous of Bane_ , Johan thought sardonically, _he defended my honor after all. Too bad the price was a man’s life_.

Gordon coughed aloud; he was still waiting for Johan to answer.

 _I can’t let you know that Bane is alive, Gordon. Not yet_ , he thought. _Not before I see him for myself_.

“It’s nothing, Jim, don’t wo-,”

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing, son,” Gordon cut in forcefully but still with a patient tone. He put the takeout bag down, the crumpled paper of it speckled with grease from sauce leaking out of a container. When Gordon was in front of Johan he placed a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders.

“Please, Joe,” he said pleadingly, “Tell me what’s wrong. I can help you.”

Johan looked into Gordon’s fatherly eyes before dropping his head down to look at the floor. It didn’t seem fair withholding information from the man; the man deserved to know the truth. If Johan wasn’t going to tell the truth, then he wasn’t going to lie to Gordon’s face. So he chose to look at the scuffed floor.

“Jim, I…” Johan didn’t know where to start. “I…wish I could…but I need to…”

 _I need to go_ , he thought. _Right now. I have to find Bane and figure out what he wants_.

Johan suddenly slipped from Gordon’s grasp before the man could stop him and took the stairs up to his room three at a time, leaving the man alone in the living room.

“Son!” Gordon’s voice called from downstairs. “Please don’t do this, don’t shut me out!”

Once in his room, Johan pulled on a pair of jeans and threw on a long sleeved shirt. He was in the midst of tying his sneakers when he glanced up to see Gordon standing in the doorway. Instead of a look of anger in his expression from Johan blatantly brushing him off, there was only sadness.

“You can’t do everything alone, Joe,” he spoke. “Bruce tried it before he had you as his partner. He never told me, but I could tell he was crumbling under the constant weight. His eyes looked more and more exhausted every night we met by the Bat-Signal.”

Johan finished tying his shoes and stood up. He gave the man a warm smile.

“Batman wasn’t ever alone, Jim. He had you,” Johan stated.

“That’s exactly my point,” declared Gordon. “I want to help you be the Shadow in any way I can. I was there for Batman as best I could be and I’m here for you now.”

Johan was full of so much affection for the man’s selflessness that he wanted to hug him. But since they’d never hugged before (Johan wasn’t the touchy-feely type), Johan settled for grasping the man’s arm.

“Something did happen tonight, Jim. I found something out,” he said as he reassuringly pressed Gordon’s bicep. “I can’t tell you right now, but I promise that I will. Soon.” 

Gordon looked at Johan a moment more before nodding in acceptance. Johan released his hand and walked to the desk, grabbing his metro card. The boy’s room was Spartan in appearance: simply a bed, a dresser, and a desk laden with a stack of books next to a reading lamp. His dresser was only packed with civilian clothes; Johan kept his Shadow uniform and other patrol gear in Bruce’s underground headquarters beneath the Wayne Enterprises shipping containers at Gotham Bay.

The boy stuffed the metro card into his pocket. He always took the railway to get to the docks; it was less suspicious than driving his motorcycle there every night.

“So whatever you just found out, that’s the reason you have to leave right now?” the man asked. “You haven’t even eaten.”

Johan chuckled; Gordon’s worry over his eating habits always reminded him of Alfred. Too bad Alfred moved back to England after Bruce’s death. Johan would have liked to visit him if he was still in the city. But since Bane was back, Alfred was probably safer away from Gotham.

The boy shook his head in confirmation. “Yeah, I should go now. The sooner the better.” 

 _Bane is out there somewhere_ , he thought. _I have to stop him before anyone else dies_.

Gordon nodded again. “Just be careful, son.”

The boy answered, “Always am.”

Soon after Johan was riding on the railway, watching the neighborhoods pass beneath him as the train sped by overhead. The trip to the docks was about twenty minutes so Johan had time to relax and look at the scenery. Rush hour had been over for a while and the train car was empty save for an older gentlemen reading a book and two girls, a blonde and brunette, that seemed dressed up to go clubbing, even though it was a weekday. The brunette girl saw Johan looking at them and gave him a shy smile; he grinned back. She turned back to her friend and whispered something, causing both girls to giggle.

Johan turned away and closed his eyes, planning to doze until he reached his stop. Since he hadn’t racked up much sleep the past few days he figured he should rest while he could. However, his mind was alight with thoughts of Bane, allowing no respite.

 _How is he alive?_ Johan pondered almost frantically, _he should be dead. There was so much blood…_

An ordinary man would have died from the injuries that the boy had seen: the wide pool of red blood and the smell of burnt flesh clinging heavily to the air. After the atom bomb had gone off, Johan had hastily left City Hall in search of Batman, all thoughts of investigating the disappearance of Bane’s body temporarily pushed from his mind.

 _There were no footprints indicating he had stood up, let alone walked away. He was probably picked up and carried somewhere_ , Johan reasoned. _I assumed some remaining League members had taken him for a discreet burial in an unknown location, sparing his body from being left to the mercy of Gotham._

Even if Bane had received emergency medical attention, Johan knew that the League of Shadows lacked the equipment and supplies necessary to save him from purportedly extensive injuries. Every man in the League was expected to die for his cause, thus eliminating the need to stock advanced life saving measures. In the end, Bane may have been Gotham’s Reckoning, but he was still just a man, a slain martyr for his ideals.

 _Apparently not a martyr after all_ , Johan thought bitterly.

Bane was no ordinary man and to classify him as such was the boy’s biggest mistake.

 _I was an idiot_ , Johan scolded himself, _underestimating Bane once again_. He furrowed his brows in determination. _When I find him, I want to know how he escaped death._

The train slowed as it reached the next stop and Johan heard the two girls get up, their earrings jangling and high heels clattering on the plastic floor.

“Ahem,” a feminine voice coughed.

He looked up to see the blonde girl standing by his seat. She was holding out to him a piece of torn notebook paper with pink writing on it. Johan saw that the brunette girl had already left the train and was standing by the window, frantically waving her arms to beckon her friend off the train; her cheeks were flushed red. The blonde girl pointedly ignored her.

“My friend Stacy outside thinks you’re cute,” she said.

The blonde girl seemed to be in high school and her hair was set in bouncy curls while her makeup was done up in bright colors. Her eyes kept darting to and from the window while she smirked at the exasperated brunette outside.

“Well, thanks,” Johan said and smiled at her. “I think she’s cute, too.”

“Good,” the blonde stated and gestured at the hand with the paper in it. “Here’s her number. She was too chicken to give it to you so I wanted to do it for her.”

The boy grabbed the paper and gave the blonde another smile.

“You’re a good friend,” he said and turned to the window, giving the brunette outside named Stacy another grin.

The blonde gave Johan a wink just before the train car buzzed. She slipped out right before the doors slid shut and Johan looked back to see Stacy playfully shoving the blonde with a delighted smile on her face.

 _That girl Stacy is lucky to have a friend like that_ , the boy mused. _I should have asked the other girl what her name was_.

The boy settled back in his seat and closed his eyes, many thoughts running through his head. Just like the nameless blonde, Johan would try his best to go out of his way for someone he considered a friend. A person like him seldom has the opportunity to make friends; when he managed to get to that point with a person he held on to them dearly.

He would sacrifice himself for Gordon even if it meant his life. For Alfred, too, he would do the same. And Bruce…

 _For him I already have_ , Johan thought.

That particular memory was from nine months back before the Occupation of Gotham began. Johan had done the only thing he could to spare Bruce. It was a costly wager on his part but was not without merit; Gotham was still standing. That specific night, Johan wasn't sure if his sacrifice would be in vain.

_It was the day after meeting the masked man; questions surrounding him were clouding the boy’s mind. He had to find out the identity of the man and the person most likely to know was Batman. Johan decided to put he and Bruce’s past aside and send a call through his audio device to the Bat-Computer. He was met with the familiar voice of an English butler._

_“It is lovely to hear from you, Master Joe,” the voice said kindly. “Two years is far too long a time to go without a message from you.”_

_“It’s nice to hear you, too, Alfred,” Johan responded. He missed Alfred and his subtle chiding; just listening to the man's voice made Johan feel like driving up to Wayne Manor and having a hot cup of Earl Grey tea with him._

_“I assume, young sir, that this is not a social call?”_

_Johan smiled at Alfred’s intuition. The loyal butler came across as a charming and unassuming older gentleman, but he was always poised for action._

_“You’re right. I wondered if you and Bruce had any information about the group that hit the Stock Exchange yesterday. Particularly about one of them, a man who wears a type of mask.”_

_Alfred made a noise of understanding. “Ah, yes. You mean the man they call Bane.”_

_“Bane?” asked Johan incredulously. “That’s his name?”_

_“Quite so. It is dramatic, I admit, but I also work for a man who has his own penchant for theatrical flair.”_

_“What can you tell me about him, Alfred?”_

_“Not enough, I am afraid. He and his organization seem to stay out of the light as much as possible. What I do know is that he was a past pupil of Ra’s al Ghul. Now he is a mercenary for hire to the right bidder.”_

_Ra’s al Ghul, head of the League of Shadows, Johan realized, Bane and Bruce learned from the same man._

_This explained Bane’s fighting expertise that gave Johan a run for his money. Had Johan not managed to accidentally damage the mask, he was unsure as to whether he would have been able to beat him. Whereas Bruce’s combat style was more clean-cut and refined, Bane fought in a grittier and more brutal manner. Johan barely recognized the League’s martial arts style in the masked man’s techniques; it was as if Bane had absorbed Ra’s al Ghul’s teachings and yet still clung to a more primitive and animalistic fighting approach._

_“Is Bruce planning to take this guy on alone?” Johan asked._

_Alfred hesitated as if he did not want to tell Johan something. Now that the boy thought about it, it was odd that Bruce himself hadn’t answered his call. The evening was still young and Bruce usually wouldn’t have left for patrol yet; it was barely after nightfall. Johan had a gut feeling something was amiss._

_“Alfred, is there something going on? Where’s Bruce?”_

_He heard the butler breath out slowly._

_“I believe that Master Bruce would not appreciate me telling you,” he said. There was pause before Alfred continued, “But I fear that it may be in his best interest for me to do so.”_

_“Where is he?”_

_“Master Bruce left not too long ago to meet Selina Kyle. Miss Kyle is acquainted with Bane and his mercenaries.”_

_Johan strained his brain to recall any instances of meeting the woman but he was drawing a blank._

_“Selina Kyle? I don’t know the name.”_

_“She is a high-end burglar, Master Joe, who fancies herself a modern-day Robin Hood. I am unaware as to her full acquaintance with Bane, however.”_

_“And she knows where Bane is?”_

_“Master Bruce met Miss Kyle at the underground railroad entrance by 24 th street. According to her, Bane’s base of operations is situated through the sewer tunnels near that location.”_

_Base of operations and mercenaries, Johan thought, sounds like Alfred’s talking about a small army._

_“Alfred, is Bruce going to meet Bane tonight? I need to know.”_

_I need to help him if he is, Johan told himself, Batman may not survive this alone, especially if Bane has friends with him._

_“That was his intention, young sir. Unfortunately, Master Bruce’s communicator has remained off so I cannot tell you his exact location. I believe that is my fault; we had a bit of a disagreement when I told him that he was not ready to take on Bane. Especially after his extended sabbatical.”_

_The boy could tell that Alfred was worried; Bruce was like a son to him. The butler wasn’t ready to bury another member of the Wayne family._

_“I’ll find him, Alfred,” Johan told him. “I have to help him. He’s going to need it.”_

_“I agree, Master Joe,” the butler said. “Be safe. This man Bane has other plans that we do not yet know about.”_

_“I will. I’ll come by the mansion, too, in the morning.”_

_“Please do so, young sir, I have those white chocolate macadamia cookies you are so fond of.”_

_“Thanks, Alfred,” Johan said and he ended the call._

_He needed to hurry if he was going to reach Batman in time._

Johan broke off the memory when he saw the gray waters of the Gotham Bay. The train screeched to a halt and the doors creaked open. This was his stop. He exited the train and felt the breeze against his face as he walked towards the shipping docks; the air lingered with a salty scent from the seawater. The bay itself wasn’t a pretty sight with its murky water that smelled slightly of sewage, but Johan liked the view of the open ocean. He came here every night to ready for nightly patrol and he still enjoyed the sight each time.

Business hours had long ended and the dock was deserted. There was a chain link security fence that kept out unauthorized personnel. Johan punched in a key code at the side door and entered inside, the door clinking shut behind him. It was fully dark by this time but overhead sodium lamps lit up the shipping containers on the ground. The Wayne Enterprises containers were off to the far side of the lot, well removed from the others.

At the door of the container Johan wanted he entered a combination that Lucius Fox had once given him on the keypad. The lock beeped and a green light blinked; Johan opened the door and flicked on the light using an outlet by the door. Inside it was furnished as an office trailer, the kind used on construction sites by the foreman. Johan walked to the desk and picked up the corded telephone. He entered the numbers 7-1-1.

 _Lucius’ birthday,_ Johan smirked.

The floor of the trailer began to rumble and Johan watched the walls around him appear to float upwards as the platform below him descended. There were a few moments of blackness as he passed through ten feet of solid rock before the platform lowered further to reveal a wide expanse of room. It was utilitarian in appearance with its solid gray walls and lack of furniture; the rows of fluorescent lights on the ceiling harshly lighted the vast area, blinking on row by row.

The island platform clunked into place and Johan stepped towards the Bat-Computer that automatically blinked to life. He slid into the leather chair in front of the computer and folded his hands together, resting his chin on entwined fingers as he stared at the multiple monitors. He sat in contemplation.

 _Where are you hiding, Bane?_ He wondered.

The sewers would be the first logical place to begin a search; it was there where Bane had stayed hidden before he emerged to start the Occupation. There were so many mazes of side tunnels and outflows that it would be easy for the man to tuck himself away.

 _But you’d know I’d look for you there_ , Johan thought.

The boy wondered if he should try running some facial recognition software and see if he got any hits. The problem was, thanks to the mask, Bane wouldn’t be recognizable by the computer program; the necessary focal points of the mouth, nose, and cheeks were obscured by leather and metal.

Johan leaned back in the chair and breathed out heavily.

In truth he was searching for one man in a city of ten million, albeit a very conspicuous one. Nevertheless, even the most obvious of prey knew to find cover in large numbers. And if there was a person who was better than Johan at lurking in the shadows, it was Bane; he was the master and darkness was his slave. If he wished to remain hidden, then it would be so.

 _Unless_ , Johan comprehended, _he wanted to be found_.

There was one other place besides the sewers that was obvious, almost too overt for Johan’s liking. The dead body of Victor Cowell was practically an invitation, one complete with the meeting place. Where it once began was the place it would start anew. 

 _How poetic,_ Johan thought sarcastically _, but could it be that simple?_

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. Johan came to his conclusion; he quickly rose and walked over to the rectangular blocks of metal set on the floor. They were storage units. He pulled out the drawer that housed his Shadow suit and fighting stick; he would never again chance an encounter with Bane unprepared.

Johan wasn’t usually inclined to take pride in worldly possessions, but his stealth uniform was the exception. It was an achievement resulting from years of technological experimentation and military grade modification, engineered to protect the wearer from outside hazards whilst enhancing the owner’s strength and speed. The skintight fabric was knitted with bulletproof fiber and was well insulated to prevent against excessive heat and moisture loss, prolonging the wearer’s stamina. Along with the bodily cover of the suit, a full head mask provided ballistics safeguards for the skull while allowing maximum visibility for the owner. The suit’s most important function was its capability to correspond with intravenous nanomachines through built-in electro fiber sensors. This feature allowed the suit to spontaneously apply pressure to an injury in reaction to blood loss. To top it all off, the suit was black, allowing ample cover in the night.

The boy promptly stripped and donned his uniform, pulling the head mask over his hair and face. He grabbed the fighting stick out of the drawer, twirled it deftly in one hand, and then snapped the weapon into place on his back.

Johan was returning to walk back to the island platform when a secret compartment rose from the stone ground. The boy usually didn’t walk close enough to trigger the automatic reaction of the hidden chamber; he didn’t want to be reminded of the hollow space within. However, with his mind blunted by other more pressing thoughts tonight, he accidentally caused the chamber to rise.

It was a display case, meant to hold the remnant of a dead man: Bruce’s cape and cowl. But instead of seeing Batman’s uniform, Johan only stared at empty spaces where the ensemble of pieces should be. The day Bruce had flown over the bay and been killed by the atom bomb, he had been wearing the suit that was stored here. The man had never come back and now the showcase stood bare.

“Bruce…” he said aloud. His voice reverberated in the silent room.

He could still see the suit as if it were there: the armored chest plates, the spiked gauntlets, and the permanently furrowed brows of the cowl.

 _The cowl_ , Johan remembered, _I saw it broken. It was bashed in half_.

The boy closed his eyes and returned to the interrupted memory.

_He had been wandering in the sewers for about thirty minutes, following boot prints of combat footwear left in the thin layer of dirty grime on the ground. The entrance where Alfred said Bruce and Selina Kyle had met was easy enough to find; Johan parked his motorcycle in the shadows and started his excursion into the winding tunnels. The sewers were pitch black and Johan was using a small flashlight to flick to and fro as he walked. The boy didn’t know where to go; every side tunnel he turned down unveiled more footprints that didn’t coalesce in any certain direction. Wherever Bruce was headed, there was most likely multiple routes._

_Johan continued down the main sewer line, figuring it was better than getting lost in the labyrinth of side passages. He was becoming restless._

_This is taking too much time, he thought._

_Suddenly a loud boom rang out that shook the tunnel; Johan threw his back against the side of the sewer wall as chunks of mud and filth were dislodged from the ceiling and plopped onto the mucky floor. The boy began to run towards the sound of the large explosion; no other noise could have caused such a racket. He stopped at a cross section, listened, and turned left headed for the lingering rebound of sound. There was a faint light at the end of the tunnel and Johan could distinctly hear the sloshing of water. Johan slowed his pace as he neared the opening and could discern voices. He slid his back to the wall and peered out._

_It was a large, circular area that stretched upwards several stories. Water from various sewer tributaries was outpouring from several openings in the walls and cascading onto the ground beneath. The light he had seen was from numerous floodlights stationed along the cement walls of the room. Johan stalked from his cover to look closer at the giant expanse. There was dust clouding the air and he looked upwards to the source: a gaping hole had been blown through the upper dome of the sewer, revealing broken cement with tattered support beams sticking out. Johan looked down to the floor._

_A tumbler was sitting amongst the rubble, as if it had fallen from above. The paint was camouflage, not black like the Batmobile. Seeing it there was disconcerting; it was too much of a coincidence. Johan looked up again at the inside of the exposed building from the new whole in its floor. Johan recognized it immediately; he had been there before when Lucius Fox had given him the CB hacking device._

_It’s Wayne Enterprises R &D department, Johan thought with shock. Bane must know Batman’s identity. This is why he chose this spot for his base of operations: to get at Bruce’s weapons._

_Johan scanned the floor and inhaled a startled breath._

_His former partner was face down on the ground. He_ _wasn’t moving._

 _The cowl was off and Johan could see Bruce’s hair matted with blood and dirt. Bane was standing near Bruce's still form, gazing down at the fallen vigilante. The man was talking to one of his subordinates who nodded his head and stepped away. There were about twenty mercenaries scattered around the enclosed area armed with assault rifles, AK-47s. Bane walked closer to Bruce, his boots clunking. He raised a foot and hovered it over Bruce’s head._

_He’s going to kill him, Johan thought with distress, Bane will crush his skull like cardboard._

_There was a metal security fence that blocked all of the entrances into the floor below; Johan couldn’t get in. Bruce was going to be killed and Johan was helpless to prevent it. The boy pressed his masked face to the metal that barred his entry._

_Bane raised his leg higher, ready to deliver the deadly blow._

_There was nothing the boy could do._

_The boot started to fall downwards._

_“Stop!” Johan called out. His voice echoed loudly around the room._

_The boot slowed and the bottom tread came to rest softly on Bruce’s head._

_The soldiers had all turned and raised their weapons, aiming at Johan. The masked man raised his head to look._

_“Ah, Shadow. I was expecting to see you. However, your timing is…” Bane glanced at the form below him, “Inconvenient."_

_“Don’t kill him,” Johan stated._

_“I may have humored you before,” Bane rasped, “But I do not take orders from you, boy.”_

_The large man removed his foot from Bruce’s body and stepped to the side, motioning to a gate with his arm._

_“Come down here. I wish to speak with you again. Our dear Mr. Wayne will not be moving anywhere in his present state.”_

_He’s luring me in there, Johan thought, but I don’t have a chance of getting to Bruce out here._

_Johan followed Bane’s direction. As he made his way to the gate saw a woman lurking in the shadows. She wore a tight fitting suit with a thin mask over her eyes; Johan could see she was distressed. It was evident she had had stayed to watch, seeing what transpired before the boy had arrived._

_Johan remembered Alfred’s information. He knew this must be Selina Kyle._

_“I’m sorry, Shadow,” she whispered. “They were going to kill me if I didn’t bring him.”_

_She shook her head in disbelief. “I – I thought he would be okay, I thought he would…” she trailed off._

_“Go,” Johan said quietly, his cold tone evident. “Before they know you’re still here.”_

_Selina opened her mouth but then closed it quickly. She turned and silently slinked to the tunnel Johan had come from._

_Johan heard the jangling of the gate as the gears lifted up the thin, metal bars. He waited until he had enough clearance before stepping through. Bane was waiting patiently below, his eyes following the boy as he made his way down the stone steps that curved around the area. The mercenaries around the enclosed space still had their weapons trained on him. With each step, his mind was furiously seeking a plan. He had bought some time but Bruce’s death seemed inevitable, no matter what scenario he came up with._

_I can’t take them all on, he thought. My suit can provide some protection from bullets, sure, but they’ll all add up. The number of rounds pelting me would cause extensive bruising and slow my movements._

_He continued walking down the steps, bringing him closer to Bane. He needed to think of something._

_At some point during the fight, a soldier’s knife could cut through the suit’s fabric, leaving me vulnerable for a well-aimed shot, he figured. Unless one of them gets lucky and stabs hard enough to knick something important. The suit can help to slow blood flow but it can’t fix a torn artery._

_Only a few steps left._

_Think, Johan! He internally screamed, I could grab Bruce and make a run for it. But those odds aren’t great either. Bruce’s dead weight would slow me down and they could easily shoot him with his head unexposed._

_Time was up as Johan’s feet stepped onto the level ground. There was no plan of action he could think of that would allow for both Bruce and him to live. Johan could save himself now if he ran for it, if he went for one of the tunnels and tried to lose them in the maze._

_No, Johan thought with determination. I’ve got to save Bruce. If I die here, then so be it._

_He approached Bane, the man’s hands resting on his hips. He was wearing a sleeveless military vest, no doubt with Kevlar underneath, that exposed his massive arms._

_“Tell me, boy,” he wheezed through the mask, “why should I spare this excuse for a savior? The man considers himself guardian of this wretched city yet is so easily broken.”_

_Johan looked off to Bruce’s body and from this closer viewpoint saw half of the cowl resting on the ground near the unconscious man’s head; it had been split in two. Where the other half was the boy couldn’t tell._

_“My reason doesn’t matter,” Johan said. “I just don’t want you to murder him.”_

_Maybe if I appeal to his seemingly strong sense of honor, Johan thought._

_The boy asked, “If we fought and I won, would you order your men to let us go free?”_

_Bane gazed at Johan a moment before starting to chuckle, his laugh gnarled by the mask. His eyes also crinkled, just as they had last night during there meeting._

_So he was smiling then, Johan thought._

_Now, in the adequate light, Johan could see that the masked man’s eyes were gray. But still they cast upon Johan a fondness that was unsuitable for their current situation. It made the boy feel strange, like it had yesterday._

_“Such a faithful companion. A pity you are loyal to one so weak,” Bane rasped as he took a few steps closer to Johan._

_They were a foot apart now and Johan could feel the gust of the man’s breath from each exhale. He must have fixed the mask or acquired a new one because the damaged metal cylinders where now fully functioning with no escaping gas._

_“Your offer is enticing,” Bane continued, “and were the circumstances of this meeting different, I would be inclined to agree. I quite enjoyed our activity yesterday.”_

_‘Enjoy’ isn’t a word I would personally use, Johan thought._

_“However,” the man said slowly and he reached out his hand. Johan was ready to step away from an oncoming attack, but instead Bane gently placed the hand on the side of the boy’s face over Johan’s own mask. The gesture could almost be called a caress. The boy allowed the hand to remain._

_What is he doing? Johan questioned._

_“I cannot allow for Mr. Wayne to live. If he were to miraculously recover from his wounds, he would pose a threat to my plans. A man such as him must be…”_

_Bane paused to take a breath. “Eliminated.”_

_“I assume that I’m also a risk to your plans,” Johan stated. “In that case you’re going to have to kill me here, too.”_

_“A regrettable matter,” he wheezed. “But yes.”_

_He removed his hand and began walking to Bruce, his back to Johan. During the course of their conversation Bruce still hadn’t moved; he was knocked out cold. Whatever Bane had done resulted in serious injury to the man. But Johan could still see Bruce’s shallow breathing under his armor. There was still hope._

_The mercenaries had been silently watching their conversation; it was clear that no man moved unless Bane gave an order. If Johan moved now while Bane’s back was to him he could try to attack or damage the mask. Though that action would probably end up fruitless; he would no doubt be riddled under bullet fire, giving Bane time to smash in Bruce’s head before coming to do the same to Johan._

_“You will watch your beloved companion die,” Bane rasped when he was next to Bruce, “and then I will kill you.”_

_Think, think, THINK! Johan thought, there must be something I can still do. Something, anything…_

_Johan saw the answer in his mind as clear as crystal: the fondness in the gray eyes, the crinkling of eyes, the recent soft touch._

_‘A regrettable matter’ he said, Johan thought. He doesn’t want to kill me, but in his mind he has to, for the sake of his plans. But what if he didn’t have to…_

_“Take me,” Johan said softly. The words left the boy’s mouth before he fully comprehended their meaning._

_Bane froze. He was breathing slowly, staring down at Bruce._

_“Take me,” Johan said again louder._

_The masked man turned his head, his gray eyes studying the boy._

_With much care and deliberation, Johan peeled off his head mask. Once fully removed, he took the mask and tossed it to Bane’s feet like a gift of surrender._

_“If you let the Batman live, I will give myself to you,” Johan said. His gold eyes were alight with boldness._

_Bane bent down slowly and picked up the mask, running his large fingers over the fabric. He said nothing in response._

_“Do you accept?” Johan asked loudly._

_The masked man’s eyes were roving over Johan’s face. He had already seen the boy’s features before but now he was looking at them with curiosity._

_“ ‘Give yourself’ you say,” Bane said in contemplation. “What are you planning to provide to me?”_

_Johan kept his face neutral at the implication of the question._

_“Whatever you want me to,” he answered. “But if you intend to use me to murder innocent people as part of your mysterious plan, I refuse. If that’s your intention you should just kill me now._

_Bane walked closer to Johan and stood facing him. He was moving one hand lightly over Johan’s mask, practically petting it._

_“And if you give yourself to me,” Bane wheezed slowly, “will it be willingly?”_

_This is for Bruce, Johan thought, I’ll do it so he can live._

_Johan tilted his head down in a nod. “Yes. Do you accept?”_

_Bane made a pleased murmur._

_“You do understand, boy, that if I agree to your offer, I will not hesitate to kill you and your dearest Batman if you jeopardize my plan.”_

_“I understand.”_

_The man’s eyes were brimming with a predatory gleam._

_“And you must obey my commands. All of them.”_

_Johan’s eyes narrowed. “I will as long as I don’t have to hurt or kill anyone.”_

_“Oh, that will not be necessary,” Bane said. “My plans for you are of a more…personal nature.”_

_The boy managed to hide a shiver. This is for Bruce, he reiterated to himself again, so that Bruce can live._

_“I’ll obey.”_

_“In that case,” Bane wheezed, “I accept your generous offer.”_

_He dropped the Shadow mask to the dusty sewer floor._

_Bane called out a series of orders to his men. It was in Arabic, a different dialect from what Johan was familiar with but he understood the gist of Bane’s command: ‘Take the body’, the man had ordered. Two men climbed down the stairs and pushed passed Johan towards Bruce’s body. They crouched down and hefted his limp body into their arms; they began shuffling to a tunnel entrance._

_“What are you doing with him?” Johan asked in alarm. “He needs to go to a hospital.”_

_“Do not worry, my boy. I am simply taking him to a place where he will be unable to return to this forsaken city.”_

_Bane turned to Johan. “But, as to our agreement, he will remain alive.”_

_The man caressed Johan’s face once more, this time stroking his thumb along the boy’s naked cheekbone. Johan saw the fondness had returned to his gray eyes._

_“You are a rare creature to give your life for another so unworthy,” the man said. “Like the desert flower that finds life among the barren soil, you have also flourished in the wasteland of Gotham.”_

_“I’m not from here,” Johan replied._

_“Here, there, it does not matter; the entire world is rife with corruption,” he stated as he patted Johan’s face before striding past him. “Enough idle chat, I will show you to our room before leaving to escort Mr. Wayne to his new home.”_

_Johan was ruffled by the way the man said “our room” so casually. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay before him. When his gold eyes opened they were startlingly clear, focused and filled with resolve._

_As long as Bruce is alive I can take whatever Bane throws at me, he thought._

_Johan followed after the larger man into another tunnel, leaving behind his mask and the sound of tumbling water._

The boy pressed a button on the empty display case and it lowered back into the floor. He stepped onto the rising platform and looked on as the Bat-Computer and automatic lights flickered off around him. He was ready to meet Bane once again and find out his goal for still being in Gotham. All of those afternoons of laying on the couch and staring at Gordon’s Van Gogh on the wall were at an end; he would confront the man, put him behind bars, and then shove all memories of cypress trees and fire out of his mind for good.

 _I’m ending this tonight_ , he decided.


	4. Chapter 4

_9 months earlier, November_

Bane had been gone for two days. He had shown Johan to the room before he departed, a meager space that was bereft of any homely object. There was a queen-sized mattress, placed directly on the dirty ground, in the corner with a pile of folded blankets on top while an old wooden desk and chair were pressed against the other wall next to a small dresser. A bookshelf stood across from the foot of the mattress, stuffed with various volumes of different shapes and sizes. Neat piles of books were placed along the wall near the bookshelf since there was no room left to fit them. A small opening beside the desk led to a tiny bathroom. The entire room was lit by a single light bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling. It was not luxury living but Johan was surprised that Bane had managed to set this all up down here in the sewers; he and his men must have been here for quite some time.

“You will remain in this room at all times,” Bane rasped. He grabbed a cowhide coat that was hanging on the desk chair and started to pull it on.

“Should you try to leave this room my men will inform me,” he said as he stuck one huge arm into a sleeve, followed by the other. “If that happens I will kill Mr. Wayne and order them to kill you as well.”

He finished putting on the leather coat and then stared at Johan, his eyes darting over the boy’s face.

“Fair enough,” said Johan in response.

“Good,” Bane wheezed. “My men will deliver food and water to you.”

The man gestured to the bookshelf in the corner. “Those books are mine. You may read them if you wish.”

“Thanks,” Johan said.

_Not like there’s anything else to do in here_ , he thought.

Bane walked to the door and stood staring and Johan. The boy stared back, his face empty of emotion.

“When I return, I expect you to honor your offer and give yourself to me.”

_He’s not wasting any time_ , Johan said inwardly.

“I will.”

Bane’s eyes shined, the light from the hanging bulb reflected in his gray eyes.

“Willingly.”

The boy ground his teeth. It hadn’t been five minutes and this was already testing his patience.

“Yes, of course.”

“Good,” the man said again. “Before I make my leave you must tell me your name.”

“Why?” Johan asked carefully. “It doesn’t matter what my name is.”

“Oh, but it does, my dear _Shadow_ ,” Bane said as his brow furrowed. “You belong to me. I want you to tell me.”

_‘You belong to me’_ , Johan thought, _I’ve never heard that one before. Guess he’s the possessive type._

The boy cleared his throat.

“It’s Joe.”

“ ‘Joe’? That’s quite plain for one such as you. Is it really your name?”

“Is _Bane_ really _your_ name?”

Johan was expecting anger, perhaps even a slap to the face, but Bane’s eyes were shimmering with mirth.

“You have a fighting spirit which I admire,” he said and reached out to stroke Johan’s face. “Very well, but I will call you ‘Joseph’. It seems more fitting.”

The boy shrugged his shoulders. “That’s fine with me.”

Bane’s eyes crinkled and he left without another word, shutting the door behind him.

That had been two days ago, or at least that’s what Johan figured from the sounds outside. During the day he could hear more voices calling to each other in some form of Arabic through the flimsy wooden door while at night most of the mercenaries were asleep. It had been night when he had first gotten to the room and there had been two periods of loud voices followed by two spans of quiet, save for the occasional soft voices of guards outside his room. Johan hadn’t slept except for the times when he nodded off at the desk while trying to read. The door opened twice each day and the same man would place a protein bar and bottle of water on the floor before closing the door without a word. Johan didn’t try talking to him and even more so didn’t want to touch the door; a rattling of the doorknob may cause the guards outside to call Bane, putting Bruce in danger.

For the past forty-eight hours he had spent his time perusing Bane’s book collection. Most of them were encyclopedias or other reference books on a myriad of subjects ranging from business and economics to art and aviation; many of them were in languages other than English, like the _La grande encyclopedie_ in French or the Portuguese _Encyclopedia e diccionario internacional_. There were also a few fiction titles that Johan saw, the kinds that are considered classics: The Canterbury Tales, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and The Divine Comedy.

_If Bane’s read all of these he’s a smart guy_ , Johan thought as he gleaned the spines of the wide variety of books. _Most of them would serve no practical purpose, so he must read them just because he wants to_.

Yesterday Johan had browsed through both _The Visual Dictionary of Architecture_ and _The_ _Encyclopedia of Military Aircraft_ ; today he had chosen _Botany: An Introduction to Plant Biology_. He had been about halfway through when he had to stop; the single bulb provided inadequate light for reading and Johan’s eyes were throbbing from trying to scrutinize the small print in the dark room.

_Maybe Bane lights candles to read_ , he mused. He searched the desk drawers and dresser but didn't find any.

Now Johan was lying on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. The mattress wasn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep on but Johan had put up with much worse in the past. Without a book to distract him Johan began thinking about his predicament.

_Bane may call me a 'desert flower'_ , he thought, _but I only feel like I’ve become a sex slave_.

Johan wasn’t nervous about what Bane expected of him upon his return. He was no stranger to sex, with either men or women, and wouldn’t feel violated by sleeping with the man. When he had made his offer he knew that sex as part of the deal would make it the most tempting for the mercenary. Johan had seen the way Bane looked at him with those hungry gray eyes; the man wanted him. If Johan had to use his own body to preserve Bruce’s life then he would.

_He has ownership of my body for now_ , Johan reflected, _but he doesn’t have my thoughts. My mind is my own._

He was worried for Bruce; he didn’t know for sure that Bane had kept his word. For all Johan knew the man could keep him as his little pet while Bruce’s body was at the bottom of Gotham Bay. When Bane came back the boy would ask for proof. If Bane couldn’t provide it then Johan would fight his way out. Thinking about Bruce led his thoughts someone else: Alfred. Before being left alone in the room a guard had frisked him, confiscating his fighting stick and communication device; they were the only things he carried. Bruce liked to keep his own arsenal of hidden gadgets in his utility belt but Johan traveled light.

_Poor Alfred,_ Johan thought _, two days he’s gone without word from either of us. I’m sure he’s assumed the worst. He can’t even send word to Gordon for any backup - the last I’d heard the Commissioner was in the hospital._

The voices outside grew louder and Johan could hear the men calling greetings in the foreign language. Bane’s growling voice was the deepest and overpowered all of the others beyond the room. The boy sat up just as Bane opened the door, the man giving him an appreciative look.

“Hello, Joseph,” he said as he shucked off his coat and placed it back on the chair.

“Hello, Bane,” Johan said. He saw the man studying the open books on his desk; Johan hadn’t returned them to the bookshelf.

“I am pleased that you followed my directions,” Bane stated. He picked up a book, _The Encyclopedia of Military Aircraft_ and began paging through. “Barsad told me you had behaved. That was wise of you.”

_Barsad?_ Johan wondered. _That must be the guard that delivers my food._

“Well that’s nice of Barsad,” Johan said dryly. “How’s Bruce?”

Bane turned a few more pages before closing the book. He reached into a vest pocket and grabbed a tablet computer. He sat on the mattress next to the boy and turned on the tablet.

“A boy such as you will need confirmation, not just my word,” he wheezed and handed the tablet to Johan who accepted it.

Bane took out a cell phone from his pocket and held it out so that Johan could see he was making an international call. Bane dialed 1 for the origination code of the United States followed by the destination code of 212; Johan didn’t know which country the second code represented since he had never memorized them all.

_That’s what I get for slacking_ , he thought.

The man finished dialing the rest of the phone number just as a video feed on the tablet in Johan’s hands popped to life. It was a grainy black and white camera, placed in the upper corner of a room.

_Looks like a prison cell_ , Johan realized when he looked closely.

The floor and walls appeared to be made of rough stone and there were bars across the large door of the room. There was bed placed right below the camera and Johan could clearly see the man lying on top. It was Bruce. He was on his stomach with his head on a pillow, his face craned towards the camera. His eyes and mouth were scrunched up in pain.

_At least he’s alive_ , Johan thought with relief.

“What did you do to him?” Johan asked.

“I broke his body.”

“Where? He’s not wrapped up in any bandages.”

“The wound is not visible. We both are now brothers, sharing in the same agony.”

_What does that mean?_ The boy wondered. _Bane looks perfectly fine._

Johan’s eyes lit up in understanding. _Except for when the mask is damaged. He must have some injury I can’t see, but I doubt that I should ask him about it…_

Bane began speaking into the phone in quick Arabic and another man soon appeared on the video feed. Johan understood Bane’s words: he said, ‘Are you ready?’ The man on the other end of the line was older with his back stooped forward, waddling as he walked. This man also had a phone and was looking to the camera expectantly.

“What should I tell him to do?” Bane asked.

“What?” Johan asked. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“The man,” Bane stated. “What should he do to prove the video is not prerecorded?”

_Oh_ , he thought, _I get it_.

The boy pondered for a moment.

“Ask him to turn three times: once clockwise, then counterclockwise, and then clockwise again.”

Bane spoke into the phone and Johan watched through the tablet as the old man shook his head in annoyance before proceeding with the instructions; he did as he was told, following the directions perfectly.

“Are you satisfied?” Bane asked the boy when the man was done. Johan nodded.

Bane grunted and took the tablet away before opening the door of the small room and handing both the phone and tablet to the guard outside. He was obviously taking precautions against his 'guest' getting a hold of them. Bane closed the door and began to undress, taking off the vest and sitting on the chair to unlace his heavy boots.

“Where did you take him?” Johan questioned.

“Home,” Bane stated simply. He had gotten one boot off and started on the other.

“Your home? But it was a prison.”

“That it is. But nevertheless, it is home,” he said as he peeled away his socks.

“So, why take Bruce there? You went overseas to get him to that place.”

_That’ a lot of trouble for one person_ , Johan realized.

“My home is where I first learned the true meaning of despair. I want Mr. Wayne to learn the same lesson, before the end.”

“ 'The end',” Johan repeated. “And what end is that?”

“Patience, Joseph, you will know soon.” Bane’s eyes were shining. “A fire will rise.”

_He likes to speak in riddles_ , Johan thought humorlessly.

Johan didn’t say any more and watched Bane finish disrobing. With his boots and socks removed he proceeded to take off his long sleeve shirt, revealing defined pectoral muscles; he folded the shirt and placed it on the desk atop the books. He was a bulky man, his upper body built like a heavyweight wrestler. Bane stood up and unbuckled his belt as his pants started to slide down his thighs, revealing fitted boxers. He bent down and removed the pants one foot at a time, folding those too and placing them over the already folded shirt. He sat back down on the chair, facing the bed.

“Come here, Joseph,” he commanded quietly, the gray eyes gleaming.

_Well, here it goes_ , Johan said to himself.

The boy got to his feet and walked in front of Bane, waiting.

“Undress.”

Johan had been wearing the Shadow suit the past two days. He had taken a shower earlier this morning and had searched for some clean clothes in the dresser. However all of the shirts and pants were Bane’s and they hardly fit; Johan opted to keep on the suit rather than hold up his pants every time he moved. The boy started to pull the suit off his shoulders; the fabric was stretchable and didn’t require him to undo any zippers or clasps. Once his arms were free he bunched the suit down his abdomen, hips, and then finally his ankles, at which point he stepped out of the suit entirely. He was exposed except for his fitted boxers, just like Bane.

_We have the same taste in underwear_ , Johan thought.

Bane made a humming noise and his eyes were roving over Johan’s body in an eager manner.

“Your body is beautiful,” the man said as the gray eyes met gold ones, “You please me, Joseph.”

One large hand started to smooth up and down Johan’s chest and stomach before the other joined in the ministrations. It felt good and the boy closed his eyes. The two hands settled on the boy’s rib cage while thumbs began to rub circles over Johan’s nipples, not too hard but firm enough that Johan shivered with pleasure. The friction suddenly stopped and the boy opened his eyes. Bane was getting up off the chair and heading towards the dresser.

Johan saw his back.

There was a deep, knotted scar running down the man’s spinal column, starting from the base of his neck where the mask began down to the lower lumbar region. The skin was raised up, evidence of badly healed tissue. A wound such as that would have certainly caused major nerve damage. And yet, the man was able to meet Johan on an even playing field in a fight.

_How is Bane even able to walk?_ Johan wondered. _That scar looks so painful_.

Johan now understood the meaning of Bane saying he and Bruce were brothers.

_That bastard_ , Johan thought, _he must have messed up Bruce’s back._

“Do not worry about my scar,” Bane said as if reading the boy's mind.

He opened a drawer, closed it, and turned to face Johan. He was holding a bottle of lubricant. Johan could also see the bulge of Bane’s growing member through the tight boxer briefs. The man saw him looking and his eyes crinkled.

“That scar is an old story that no longer matters,” he continued. He walked passed Johan and stood by the bed. “Remove the rest of your clothing, Joseph, and kneel down on the bed.”

“Aren’t you going to use a condom?” the boy asked.

“I am clean. Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

Johan took a breath and pulled down his boxers. His own penis was semi-erect, still remembering Bane’s short but effective rub down. He moved to the bed and kneeled down with his back to the masked man. He heard Bane remove his own boxers along with the snap of the bottle soon after. Johan felt a warm hand on his back after the man knelt down behind, steadying him.

“Hold still,” he said quietly as he pushed the boy's upper body down so that Johan was resting on his forearms.

One large finger entered him, soon followed by another. Johan clenched his teeth and grunted, gripping the sheets on the bed; it hurt, a lot, and he couldn’t help but shift away from the intruding fingers. Johan felt Bane’s hand push down harder on his back to hinder his movements, the fingers continuing to move and stretch the inner muscle. The boy clenched his eyes shut and tried to focus on the satisfying feeling whenever Bane’s fingers hit the right spot inside, but it just wasn’t enough to dull the pain when a third finger was added. Johan tried to move away but was halted again by the large hand, this time holding on to his shoulder.

“Easy now, Joseph,” Bane rasped.

The man’s breathing had become heavier and more excited. The fingers were soon gone and Johan heard another snap of the lubricant as Bane squeezed it out and lathered his member. The hand to his shoulder returned.

“Relax,” the man said.

Johan flinched a bit as he felt the head at his opening. Bane pressed down on his shoulder tighter and he deliberately eased his way in, inch by inch. The boy shuddered as he felt his insides stretching to their limit to accommodate the man’s large size; Johan bit back a whimper and fisted the sheet even tighter, the muscles in his shoulders and back tensing. The man put his other hand on Johan’s hip and began to rock.

_He’s too big_ , Johan thought as he bit down on his hip, _this is going to be painful_.

The boy’s face was flushed from the discomfort; his penis had been flaccid for quite some time. Bane picked up the pace and started to thrust in earnest, breathing even more heavily and grunting in enjoyment. The pace was brutal and to stop his own body from flailing Johan had to reach a hand against the wall to remain steady. Apparently that moved him too far for Bane’s liking because the man forcefully moved the hand from Johan’s hip to curl around the boy’s abdomen, pulling Johan strongly back to remain flush with his plunging member. The boy groaned as he felt his insides burning; there was a thin trickle of warm fluid running down his thigh that Johan knew was blood.

_Well that’s great_ , he thought. Bane was taking no notice of the boy’s injury. Unless the man saw and just didn’t care.

Bane was close after a few minutes; his calculated thrusts had become more sporadic and a decent amount of his upper body was leaning heavily on Johan. Since the boy couldn’t support himself against the wall he had been shoved downward onto the mattress, his head grating back and forth on the pillow while his hands remained fisted in the sheets. A thin sheen of sweat covered the boy’s face and the hair on his temples was wet from the perspiration.

Finally it was done as Bane grunted in pleasure, followed by a few weak thrusts to finish him off. He drug Johan with him as he moved up the mattress to lay down on the side of the bed next to the wall. Bane waited a few moments, exhaling deeply through the mask before removing his member; Johan winced at the movement. The boy was curled up on the half of the mattress closest to the door; his face was still flushed red but his sweat was quickly cooling from the naturally cold temperature of their sewer dwelling. Bane began breathing slowly and evenly as if he were asleep, one of his arms draped over the boy’s abdomen. Johan sighed shakily.

_He’s bigger than I thought he would be_ , Johan admitted tiredly, _I should have prepared myself beforehand_.

Johan thought about the blood and semen running down his thigh. The nanomachines would prevent any real damage to his tissues but that didn’t make the sex any less rough. Bane carried out intercourse the same way he fought: with animalistic intensity. The boy was under no illusion that he would get reciprocal pleasure from sleeping with Bane; it seemed the man agreed to spare Bruce for one reason: his own sexual satisfaction.

_And the best part_ , the boy thought cynically, _is Bane didn’t even think of this arrangement. It was all me. Nice one, Johan._

The boy shifted upwards to sit. He started to stand when a hand grasped his arm firmly.

“Where are you going, Joseph?” Bane asked, his voice sated but not sleepy in the slightest.

“To the bathroom,” Johan said, “I need to clean up.”

“Of course,” Bane breathed out and let go. “Hurry back, I like the feeling of your body next to mine.”

“I will.”

Johan stood up and took small steps to the bathroom, trying not to aggravate his injuries. He reached the bathroom, turned on the light, and shut the door.

Four days later Johan was woken from a nap by a loud series of explosions. They rocked the entire room and the top tier of books on the shelf slammed to the floor; the filament in the light bulb was rattled loose and the space was plunged into darkness. Johan waited until the loud booms stopped. The dust particles floating to the ground caused him to sneeze.

Bane and his men had left early in morning, before the explosions. He and the boy had sex very quickly, Bane rutting quietly into Johan, before the man had taken a quick shower, pulled on his cowhide coat, and left. A few seconds later the boy heard a drill through the door; there was a dark patch across the door between the wall and the door itself, like something was being placed over it. It was a lock.

“Today is a momentous occasion,” Bane called through the door, “and I do not trust to bring you with me, Joseph. Barsad will not be keeping watch but if I see that you have tampered with the lock or are gone when I return, your Mr. Wayne will die… _slowly_.”

“Understood.”

“Excellent,” the man rasped. “Perhaps you can spend your time finishing that botany text. It is one of my favorites.”

He heard the man’s footsteps grow farther away from the door.

_Maybe I should have bought him a bouquet_ , Johan thought, _I could have saved Bruce with a dozen roses_.

That conversation had been about sixteen hours ago; there was no clock in the room so Johan was estimating. He had no doubt that the explosions were from Bane and his plan; a plan, Johan realized, that he still knew nothing about. He figured he would ask soon. The explosions had come and gone about eight hours earlier and still Johan was waiting for Bane to come back. The boy actually had continued reading _Botany: An Introduction to Plant Biology_ before his nap, but now because of the damaged light bulb he didn’t even have that as a distraction.

Once again the boy found himself laying on the mattress waiting for the mercenary's return; he was staring at the ceiling in the dark room. He began to tap on the wall in Morse code: dash dot dot dot, dot dash, dash dot, dot.

Johan did it a few more times, the letters B A N E forming from his fingers against the concrete sewer.

Aside from that first night when Johan had been overwhelmed by Bane's roughness things had gone smoothly. Bane was gone the entire day doing Johan knew not what; the boy spent his time reading the books. When he got bored of that he did some exercises: sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups. Afterwards he would shower; Barsad had given him several long sleeve shirts, fatigue pants, and a coat that fit. Johan was glad since his suit was starting to smell of sweat and grime; he sighed with relief the first time he pulled on the clean clothes.

When Bane came back to the room at night he would inquire as to what subjects Johan had read that day. The man’s eyes would crinkle when Johan broached a topic he liked (yesterday it had been military plane engines) and he would spend a few minutes talking with the boy. It was easy to notice Bane’s intelligence and sturdy grasp of the spoken English word, even though it was not the man’s mother tongue. The same way that his enormous body was contrary to his swiftness and gentle touches, likewise his nonchalant death threats and violent capabilities were incongruent with his mental acuity and learned manner.

_Too bad Bane has devoted his life to killing_ , Johan thought, _if he wasn’t a mercenary he could be anything: a professor, a doctor, or politician. Yeah, I can imagine him giving a lot of speeches if he was in politics_.

However, they never talked about what went on outside the room. The few times Johan had asked he was met with a stern glare and growl of warning from the big man.

After talking for spell they would have sex, usually in the same position as the first night. On the third day Bane had told Johan to ride him while the man sat up against the wall by the head of the mattress. The boy was getting the most pleasure he had so far from this arrangement, being able to set the pace and angle himself. But Bane had soon grown impatient and with a loud grunt had pushed Johan onto his back and began thrusting forcefully inside the boy. Johan had to put his arms around the man’s wide neck to stay stationary as he wrapped his legs around Bane’s thick waist. Bane came soon and plopped down beside Johan against the wall, avoiding toppling onto the boy’s smaller frame. Johan waited a few moments before speaking, figuring Bane would be less prone to anger after relaxing in his post-orgasmic haze.

“Bane?”

“Yes, my boy?” the man asked lazily.

“The position we started with, before we switched, I liked that one.”

Bane hummed and raised his head, gazing down Johan’s body. The boy was on his back so his almost flaccid penis was displayed for viewing.

“But you did not climax,” he stated, his gray eyes furrowed in puzzlement.

“I know. I just wanted to ask you if I could ride you more often, instead of the other way,” Johan continued carefully.

“Joseph, your own enjoyment was not part of the offer,” Bane said impatiently.

“I understand that.”

“Then if you desire to find pleasure, do not ask me for it. Use your own hand.”

“You made me feel good at the beginning of our first night using _your_ hands.”

“Ah yes, I was merely learning the shapes and lines of your body. That was solely for my pleasure, not yours.”

He breathed a raspy puff of air into Johan’s ear. “I will take you however I wish.”

Johan sighed and turned away from Bane, his front facing the door. Bane sidled close behind the boy, circling his hands over the tattoo on Johan’s right shoulder. The man hadn’t said anything about the inked spot on the boy’s skin; Bane did not ask anything personal (the only exception being the boy’s name that first night) and Johan did not seek to know what the man was scheming everyday when he was not in the room. They had settled into an unspoken agreement to stay from personal details of any kind; that rule seemed like it was about to change.

Large fingers kneaded the muscle on Johan’s shoulder and he moaned in contentment; he heard Bane chuckle softy.

“This tattoo,” Bane began slowly, still massaging the boy’s shoulder. “I have seen one other man with a corresponding brand.”

_Brand_ , Johan thought darkly, _used on cattle and sometimes humans, or at the very least, humans undergoing scientific experimentation._

“What was the number?” Johan asked.

“I do not remember, Joseph, it was many years ago.”

Johan nodded. The black number inked into his own shoulder was 017; it marked him as the seventeenth test subject in line for nanomachine technology research and development. The serial number seemed appropriate because Johan happened to be seventeen years old when the experiment took place. Johan was the most successful example of nanomachines fully meshing with a human host. There were three others that had semi-favorably bonded with the nanomachines but none of them lasted more than a year; Johan has been living for a lot more than that, with no major complications. Sort of.

The only blip in the plan was Johan had to return once a year to the lab of Dr. Marie Saunders, the physician in charge of the nanotechnology experiments. She was the only remaining member of the pioneer nanotechnology crew; the others had died years ago. The nanomachines needed a sort of tune-up each year. If Johan could not make his required appointment to Dr. Saunders, the outcome was not pleasant.

“Joseph,” Bane said as he squeezed Johan’s shoulder. “What is the meaning of the tattoo?”

Johan was silent a moment before answering, “I don’t want to tell you.”

“And if I were to order you to tell me, what then?”

The boy shifted to turn around and look at the gray eyes; they were empty of feeling and Johan couldn’t determine Bane’s intention with the loaded statement.

“I would tell you whatever you wanted to hear. But how you’d know if it was the truth would be your problem,” the boy said.

Bane stared a moment more before crinkling his eyes and hugging the boy close to him, nuzzling his mask against Johan’s neck. 

“Your fiery spirit always amuses me, my little Joseph,” Bane responded and breathed in heavily to smell Johan’s scent; the boy likewise inhaled the musky aroma of Bane as it practically overpowered his nose.

“You can keep your secrets,” Bane said and rolled onto his back, “just as you have let me keep mine,” he finished as he took Johan’s torso with him, the boy’s upper body now resting on the man’s chest while his legs were still on the mattress.

Bane carded his large hand through Johan’s chestnut hair. “Sleep now, Joseph, I am tired and you need rest. You are tense tonight.”

_What can I say_ , Johan thought, _bringing up my wonderful past is always a mood killer_.

Johan barely nodded to Bane in response and closed his eyes. He had always slept on the mattress, never half sprawled on the man, so he didn’t know if he would be able to fall asleep. Nonetheless the boy's mind drifted away as Bane’s rumble of breath and steady chest movements slowly lulled him to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_9 months earlier, November continued_

_Johan was strapped to a metal gurney in the center of a lab. Camera tripods were standing at each corner of the gurney and were flashing red as they recorded. The room was cold and Johan had goose bumps all over his flesh; they had made him remove all clothes except his boxers. Dr. Marie Saunders and two other personnel were the only people in the room while all other observers were watching behind the glass of the surveillance room._

_Dr. Saunders looked to an older man in the surveillance area; he gave her a curt not and she stepped in front of one of the four cameras. She began speaking._

_“I am Dr. Marie Saunders and am beginning the next consecutive nanomachine experiment on test subject number zero one seven. Subject will be injected with ten milliliters of solution in the left antecubital.”_

_She looked down at her watch. “The time is zero seven hundred hours. I will begin.”_

_An assistant placed a tray in front of Dr. Saunders. She snapped on a pair of gloves and picked up the waiting syringe._

_The boy stared at the woman with pleading gold eyes; he didn’t want to be here. They had forced him to take part. Dr. Saunders knew this information but her hands were tied._

_She scrubbed a cold alcohol wipe on the crease of his left elbow searching for a vein. As she was removing the syringe cover, Johan caught a movement of her lips that none of the cameras would be able to record from their present angles._

_The flutter of her lips had been quick and subtle, unnoticeable to most; if Johan wasn’t adept at speech reading he would have missed it._

_However, the words Dr. Saunders had silently spoken were already easy to discern from the tormented look in her eyes: ‘I’m sorry’._

_Dr. Saunders plunged the needle into a vein and Johan felt the icy liquid burn in his warm blood. The doctor finished emptying the syringe and placed it back on the tray; she was glancing at her watch again._

_“The time is zero seven zero four. Commence time for experiment initiation, starting now.”_

_Johan put his head flat against the gurney and stared at the ceiling. No matter what happened he told himself that he wouldn’t cry._

_The boy blinked and he noticed that his vision was a bit fuzzy; he blinked again, this time harder, but was met with the same result. The lights above him became hazier and the fluorescent bulbs seemed to be emitting glowing halos that were growing larger in size. When he turned his head he felt as if his entire equilibrium had been thrown off; he was nauseous._

_That was when the serum fully hit him. All of the blood in his veins instantaneously started to scald him, like he was being cooked from the inside out. He yelled out so loudly and with so much strained torment that one of the women in the observation room gasped. Johan tried to scream for help but all that came out of his mouth was an agonizing gurgle. His eyes were clenched shut and he began to thrash his entire body against the straps of the gurney. When that proved useless he began smashing his head into the table._

_Fire! He screamed inwardly, I’m on fire! It’s hot and burning and melting everywhere! The fire BURNS!_

_Large tears began to amply roll from his closed eyes as he continued to bash his head, his body fully seizing now. Dr. Saunders stepped to the gurney and grabbed the boy’s face between her head to try and stop his violent writhing; the two assistants stood at his lower body and tried to lessen the jerking of his limbs._

_“Open your eyes!” Dr. Saunders commanded, “You’re still alive, open your eyes!”_

_With all of the effort he had left in his still seizing body, Johan slowly opened his eyes to reveal the unique sign of successful nanotechnology binding: silver eyes the color of gleaming metal._

_Fire, burning. Fire, blazing. Fire, melting. Fire, broiling, FIRE! Johan’s mind wailed._

_It hurts, hurts, HURTS!_

“No!” Johan screamed as he sat up, instantly rolling to the side away from the heat of a person next to him. He could still feel his blood boiling within him and his naked body doused with sweat. The room was very dark, unlike the bright lighting of the lab. He heard the shuffling of a person standing up in the room but he couldn’t see them.

“Stop!” he yelled, “Don’t come near me!”

There was a wheezing sound coming closer and Johan began to panic, his limbs shaking from fear and the lingering pain. His entire body was aching and sore; he heard the footprints coming closer and backed up until he hit a wall.

“Hush, Joseph,” a frightening voice said from the darkness, “come back to bed.”

_Bed?_ Johan asked silently with alarm. _Where’s the gurney? And the lab?_

He reached out both his arms and frantically searched for a way out; his right hand knocked something circular and metal.

_A doorknob!_ He discovered excitedly.

Johan turned the knob. It was unlocked. He hurriedly turned it and stepped out.

The butt of a rifle slammed into his head, making him side step; another blow to his back caused him to crumple to the ground in a heap. Under other circumstances Johan would have easily been able to recover and disable his assailant. However, his body was already weak; sweat soaked his skin and his breathing was sporadic. Every muscle in his body ached. He used a large amount of effort to wipe away the blood dripping from the fresh gash over his eyebrow; even that task proved too much and Johan gracelessly sagged his arm back down in response to his burning muscles.

A face with drowsy blue eyes and a scruffy beard appeared overhead. He was speaking to the boy, snapping his fingers in front of his eyes while trying to get Johan’s attention. The boy couldn’t hear anything except a distant ringing in his ears. Johan felt the man slap his flushed face, his eyes finally focusing and ears clearing.

“Why did you leave the room?” the man asked with an obvious lack of patience; he had probably asked the same question before and gotten no answer.

_Oh, it’s Barsad_ , Johan recognized the man wearily _, and I’m in the sewers. And Bane…where is he?_

With a grunt of exertion Johan propped himself up using his arms and turned his neck around searchingly. He found Bane standing in the entranceway to their room, arms folded and looking down at the boy on the floor. Bane was naked as well but didn’t seem at all modest.

“You went again my orders, Joseph,” the masked man said slowly. “You tried to escape me.”

Johan’s stomach dropped. _I left the room_ , he realized. _I broke an order. Shit!_

It had been nearly a month without incident and both Johan and Bane had continued their usual routine: Johan didn’t leave the room and Bane made no complaints. That was until now.

“Bane, please, don’t hurt Bruce,” Johan pleaded, “I – I didn’t know what I was doing. You have to believe me.”

He truly didn’t know how he had gotten outside the room; the only thing Johan remembered was the feeling of fire flowing through his veins and the tortuous spasms in his body. The recent blow to his head wasn’t making it easier to clear things up in his foggy brain.

Bane was still studying Johan, as if weighing his options.

“I judge your words to be true,” Bane rasped, his gray eyes darkening perceptively. “You did not seem to be yourself, so I will not punish Mr. Wayne for your actions.”

Johan was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Bane leaned down and clenched his neck with a meaty fist. The boy’s hands immediately shot up to Bane’s wrist, trying to loosen the man’s iron grip.

“But _you_ , Joseph, have not learned your place. You blatantly defy me,” Bane wheezed as he squeezed down harder to lift Johan bodily off the ground, the boy’s face a mere inch away from the mask with his feet swaying helplessly in the air. Johan sputtered for breath, his face growing red and eyes watering, as Bane’s eyes darted across his face.

“You,” the man said as he shook his fist to make Johan’s body swing back and forth. “ _Belong to me_.”

The boy’s vision was starting to darken around the edges when Bane threw him inside the room like a rag doll. His back crashed painfully against the floor. Johan hurriedly inhaled a gulp of fresh air followed by another; his lungs were starving for oxygen and he let them take their fill. Bane spoke a few rapid commands to Barsad before closing the door. The man wasted no time as he walked over to Johan, pulled him up by the hair, and punched the boy directly in the face.

Blood started spurting from his nose instantly. Bane let go and Johan’s head dropped against the unyielding floor. The man followed with a sharp kick to his abdomen and then another to his side right above his kidney. Each impact by Bane was agony; Johan’s body had already been in severe pain when he had woken up so this beating was even more excruciating…

_Woken up!_ Johan realized as Bane hit his back with a foot _, I remember the bright lights, Dr. Marie, the nanomachine serum…_

The nanomachines running through him had interpreted the dream as real, making his bodily systems react to the scene being recreated through his sleeping mind. Because the nanomachines were wired to correspond with his nervous system they sometimes responded inappropriately to a perceived threat that wasn’t real, like the nightmare. The nanomachines caused his muscles to burn and his blood to feel as if it had boiled in his veins, just as it had been during the experiment he had dreamed.

_That’s why my entire body is exhausted - the nanomachines were acting up_ , Johan thought. D _amn them, the little bastards! I must have tried to leave the room thinking I getting away from Marie’s lab…_

Johan continued to take Bane’s punishment; his kicks and punches were landing hard and the boy’s blood was smeared on the floor. After one particularly violent kick to the chest Johan coughed up red speckles. Bane eventually stopped to catch his breath, his upper body heaving from his deep ventilations. Johan took advantage of the small reprieve to close his eyes, readying himself for a possible round two.

“You do not defend yourself,” Bane stated with curiosity.

“Why…would I?” Johan asked between breaths. It was painful to inhale so the boy was breathing shallowly.

“You are a capable opponent,” the man pointed out as he moved to the desk. Johan heard the wooden chair creak as Bane sat down; he hoped that meant Bane was done for the night.

“I won’t…risk Bruce’s life…by fighting,” the boy breathed slowly. His eyes were still closed and each breath hurt.

_If I didn’t have my nanomachines_ , he thought tiredly, _Bane’s assault would have killed me. Guess I can’t hate the little bastards forever._

Bane laughed deeply. “Once again, Joseph, you prove yourself the desert flower.”

“But I…don’t look…pretty _now_.” Johan felt the blood still oozing out of his nose and he was pretty sure one eye was swollen; bruises were sure to mottle his chest and abdomen in a few hours.

Bane got up and stood by Johan. He began to stroke his already hard member. Neither of them was wearing any clothes so Bane’s erection was impossible to miss; Johan figured the excitement of pummeling him must have aroused the man.

“You are indeed beautiful,” he rasped. Bane fisted his hand in Johan’s hair again and lifted the boy to his knees. “After you offer your mouth to me I will put this offense behind you.”

Johan weakly tried to keep his head away from the engorged penis but Bane’s hand was unrelenting, dragging him closer. The man pushed the boy’s lips against the wet head and Johan refused to open his mouth.

The man punched the boy in the face again. Johan moaned as Bane said, "Open." The boy did.

Bane quickly started thrusting in, his hips bucking sharply and forcing his member deep down Johan’s throat. The boy was trying his best not to gag but his eyes were watering and he couldn’t breath; his hands went to Bane’s hips and held on strongly. The man continued to violently push his member inward while holding Johan’s head still with his hands.

“That’s a good boy, Joseph,” Bane coaxed as he plunged his member even deeper down the boy’s throat.

A whine left Johan; he needed air. His nose was blocked with drying blood so whenever Bane’s member retracted enough for Johan to breath in he couldn’t get any desperately needed oxygen. Using both his hands Johan shoved against Bane’s thighs and freed his mouth. The man’s penis was left bouncing and exposed, glistening with saliva; Johan rested his forehead against the man’s hip to take in a few deep breaths. A hand grabbed Johan’s chin and forced his gold eyes upward.

“I am close,” Bane rasped. His eyes had a hungry look as he said, “You are doing well.”

Johan groaned as the man grabbed his face and started to move it back towards his member. The boy just wanted this to be over; his knees were sore and it hurt just to sit up because of the numerous kicks Bane had delivered to his abdomen. The boy’s jaw was also starting to ache from Bane’s huge girth. His mouth was once again pushed to the head of Bane’s length but Johan didn’t open his lips. Bane growled and pulled tightly against Johan’s hair, forcing a pained grunt out of him. The man’s hands pulled harder and the boy relented, opening his lips to have Bane thrust in once more.

It took a few more minutes and Johan’s throat felt raw by the time Bane’s legs tensed and semen started spurting into the boy’s mouth. Bane kept his grip firm and Johan had no choice but to swallow down the warm liquid while the man purred in delight.

Bane pulled out of Johan’s mouth and the boy slumped back to the floor, his eyes still watering. The man went to his dresser and began taking out folded pairs of clothes; he put his shirt and pants on the dresser while he threw Johan’s pair by him on the floor. The boy furrowed his brows.

“You don’t want to go back to sleep?” he asked the man.

Bane took out a watch from the dresser. “It is almost morning. No point in resting anymore. Get dressed, Joseph. We are relocating today.”

The masked man sat on the chair and began to put on his boxers, pants, and boots.

“I’m assuming relocating is part of your plan,” Johan said as he began dressing as well.

“Yes. It will be easier for me to run operations without having to return to the sewers each night.”

Johan had been lacing his boots but promptly stopped. So far he hadn’t asked any specific questions abut the man’s plan; however, it was time to see if he could get some answers. Bane had been keeping him more than a month and each of Johan’s attempts at probing had been met coldly. With Bane relaxed after his blowjob maybe he’d be in a generous mood.

The boy sniffed and wiped some blood out from under his nose.

“Bane?”

“Yes, Joseph?”

Johan took a deep breath. “What is your plan?”

Bane looked at the boy as he tucked the shirt into his pants.

“And why would I tell you?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.

_Touchy ground here_ , Johan thought, _tread lightly_.

“I already gave you my word I wouldn’t interfere,” Johan stated. “I’m curious.”

Bane completed tucking in his shirt and turned towards the desk, flipping through one of the books that Johan still hadn’t returned to the bookshelf.

“Bane,” Johan said in an imploring tone, “I’ve agreed to stay in the room unless you tell me otherwise. My hands are tied; I wouldn’t do anything even if I could since Bruce is at your mercy.”

The man remained silent as he continued to browse the textbook.

_This is a strike for me_ , Johan huffed inwardly.

The boy continued dressing when suddenly Bane moved; Johan saw that he had pivoted on the chair and was holding open the book to display the inside of _Botany: An Introduction to Plant Biology_. The page was turned to a colored picture of a row of tall, skinny trees. The land they were growing on seemed arid and parched, like the savannah.

“There is a certain tree that grows in Africa called the Widdringtonia cypress,” Bane said as his fingers dusted over the picture. “It only releases its seed after being scorched by a blazing fire. Only then can new generations sprout from the scorched earth. Like the cypress, only when Gotham is in ashes can it rise up anew.”

The man’s gray eyes were shining with an intensity that Johan had not witnessed before.

“This,” Bane said, “is my plan.” He loudly slammed the book shut and placed it on the desk.

Johan was speechless. ‘ _Only when Gotham is in ashes’_ , he thought. _That doesn’t sound good_.

“So,” the boy said slowly, “Gotham is going to burn in a fire?”

“Yes.”

“The entire city?”

“Indeed,” Bane said nodding. His eyes were still sparkling.

“You’re going to burn down the whole city?” Johan asked in disbelief. “That would kill millions of people.”

Bane was still nodding. “Gotham is a beacon for injustice and criminality in the world. It must be destroyed.”

Johan shook his head incredulously at the calm tone the man was using. It was as if Bane was mentioning the foul weather or explaining how to make pasta al dente. But no, that was not the case at all; he was talking about murdering an untold amount of people. It was mass genocide.

“And how do you plan on doing this? A bomb or something?” Johan questioned.

“That detail,” Bane said as he focused his eyes, “is not yours to know.”

Both Johan and Bane had finished dressing; the man was still perched on the chair and Johan was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Droplets of red had fallen on his shirt from his leaking nose; the side of his face was also caked with blood from where Barsad’s rifle had made contact. His body still ached all over but the pain had lessened a bit; the nanomachines’ healing properties were kicking in. That was good because Johan didn't want his body distracting him during this conversation.

“But why Gotham?” Johan asked. “Why does _this_ city deserve to burn?”

“Gotham is a blight on the face of this world. To remove such an imperfection we must purge it. The same is true with all of the nature.”

“I’m sure any other place would meet your _purging_ criteria. Crime and corruption are part of every city in the world.”

Bane’s expression hardened. “Gotham is alone in its public adoration of its baser citizens. Only a city truly forsaken would praise the actions of a madman.”

“You mean the Joker?” Johan supplied. "We don't ' _praise_ ' him. Everyone in Gotham hates that guy." _  
_

“I am referring to the revered Harvey Dent,” Bane wheezed. “You have a holiday dedicated to the man who tried to murder Gordon’s child.”

_What?_ the boy thought with surprise. _That information isn't public knowledge. Aside from me only Bruce, Gordon, and the Commissioner's family know what really happened to Harvey._

"How could you know that?" the boy asked. He waited but Bane didn't answer. Instead the man chose to stare at him smugly.  _Fine, he can keep his secrets. I can still try to prove him wrong about Gotham._  

“Gordon himself put out that false statement about Dent,” Johan pointed out. “It was to preserve the work he and Batman had done with Harvey.”

“Ah,” Bane said, holding out his arms. “A prime example of the corrupt leading the corrupt. The Dent Act was founded on unsound principles, putting countless men and women into jail.”

Johan shook his head in frustration. “Even if the Dent Act was based on a lie the people put in prison because of it were still guilty of their crimes.”

“But whose crime is greater?” Bane asked almost mockingly. “The corrupt man who is on trial or the corrupt judge who will determine his fate?”

Johan uncrossed his legs. “Sometimes the end does justify the means, or at least in certain cases. It’s true that Batman and Gordon hid the truth about Dent,” the boy conceded, “but the good that came out of it far outweighed their lie.”

“To the League of Shadows all of Gotham is equally guilty of their wickedness,” Bane said with fervor. “Even those who parade themselves as idols of justice use evil methods to attain their goals. Every citizen of this city must die for true justice to prevail.”

_The League of Shadows_ , Johan thought with surprise, _Alfred said Bane had been trained by Ra’s al Ghul, but he didn’t mention the man carrying on in Ra’s’ footsteps._

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead,” the boy countered dryly, “Batman made sure of that. Why are you doing a dead man’s dirty work?”

Bane leaned forward with a menacing glare in his eye. “ _I_ am the League of Shadows,” he wheezed with vicious determination, “here to fulfill Ra’s al Ghul’s destiny.”

_He’s a piece of work_ , Johan thought and sighed inwardly _, but if it’s true that he’s finishing Ra’s’ plan then Gotham is in trouble. I may have made a deal I won’t be able to keep. Bruce’s life is important, but not nearly worth more than all of Gotham…_

“Then by your point of view as a League member,” Johan said, “you’re saying Batman is just as corrupt as his parents’ murderer? I can’t believe that. He devoted his life to fighting crime in Gotham.”

Bane’s tone took on that of a parent admonishing their small child. “Mr. Wayne tried to fight injustice through ineffective means, letting live those that deserved death. He allowed the criminals to persist, never truly ridding Gotham of the guilty. He, too, is just as deserved of death.”

“How come you didn’t kill me then?” Johan asked as he stretched forward, applying to pressure to a bruised rib. “If Batman deserves to die then so do I.”

“I told you before,” Bane rasped. “You offered your life for his. A noble effort requires a reward of additional time, even if it is borrowed.”

“My life is _borrowed_?” Johan commented.

“Indeed, as are all the lives in this city. I am Gotham’s Reckoning, collecting the debt of the corrupt.”

_Nice title_ , Johan thought sarcastically before asking, “So what’s their debt?”

“They persist,” Bane said simply.

“That’s harsh,” Johan stated as his eyes darkened, “and the only way you can _collect_ their debt is to burn Gotham to the ground?”

“You are correct, Joseph.”

“That doesn’t explain why you let me live.”

Johan followed Bane’s movements with his eyes as the man reached behind and scratched his own back, a few inches below the mask.

“If I am to find pleasure with someone,” Bane said as he raked his nails over the raised scar beneath his shirt, “you are worthy, even if your means of fighting the corrupt foolish.”

_This conversation is ridiculous_ , Johan thought and slowly began to stand up; he needed to walk out some nervous energy and stretch his burning muscles. _The damned League of Shadows, thinking they are gods of the world, serving out judgment to whomever they please._

The boy got to his knees and then put one foot on the ground before slowly moving the other. He had to brace his upper body on his thighs to fully stand since his back and stomach were blossoming with sensitive bruises. He began to walk back and forth in the space between the mattress and the opposite wall, slumped over and pacing like a caged tiger. Bane trailed him with his intense gray eyes; the man checked his watch.

“I see that you do not understand the League’s role in the destruction of Gotham, but that is no matter. I do not expect anyone outside of us to know the virtue of our cause.”

“ _Virtue?”_ Johan spat angrily at the man. He turned to stand in front of Bane, his face red with outrage. “Your _cause_ , your finishing Ra’s’ destiny, is just an excuse to murder millions of people. It’s bullshit when you say the people of Gotham _deserve_ to die!”

“They do,” Bane said calmly to the boy in front of him.

“Since when is _living_ a crime?” Johan yelled loudly. He was breathing heavily now and his throat was dry but there was no water in the room. “The people of Gotham can prove to you that you don’t need to kill them!”

“Gotham is beyond saving,” the man continued. “The purging fire is inevitable and natural.”

“No one is past saving, Bane,” Johan reasoned with frustration. “People can change. You don’t need to murder a whole city just because you think it’s corrupt.”

“This city will be an example,” Bane replied. “The entire world will see its criminality destroyed in fire. It is far too late for Gotham to redeem itself.”

“Everyone is beyond saving? Even _children_ , Bane?” Johan nearly screamed. He hesitantly grabbed both of Bane’s heavy shoulders. “I could maybe understand punishing the people in charge, but thousands of innocent children will die because of you. You can’t tell me that they _deserve_ to burn.”

Had Johan not been staring at the man he would have missed it; a flicker of sadness crossed Bane’s eyes so quickly the boy questioned if he had really seen it at all.

“Everyone in the city will die,” Bane said and plucked Johan’s hands off his shoulders. He stood up and started to put on his coat. “I and the entire League of Shadows will sacrifice ourselves for this cause. We will burn in the consuming fire.”

“You all are just going to kill yourselves along with everyone else?” Johan asked.

“For our plan to succeed it is the price we are gladly willing to pay,” Bane declared as he opened the door to the room. Johan saw that Barsad was silently waiting outside the door, rifle in hand.

The masked man gestured with his arm outside the room. “Now follow. We are moving to our new quarters today.”

Johan shook his head. _Think, Johan, think!_ He ordered himself. _This doesn’t flow right. Bane says that the League has come back to Gotham to finish what Ra’s al Ghul started; he claims to need to burn the city out of moral obligation. But to me it seems like this is a petty revenge scheme, with Bane seeking retribution from Gotham for Ra’s’ death._

_But revenge doesn’t make any sense!_ The boy remembered the fleeting look of sadness at the mention of murdering children. _Bane doesn’t seem to want to destroy Gotham_ , Johan realized, _so if this whole plan is a revenge plot, is it even Bane’s?_

The shelf brimming with books and the man’s obvious love for knowledge did not attest to a mass murderer who killed people on the flimsy basis that they deserved death just for so-called 'corruption'; it just didn’t fit together in the boy’s head. Johan could clearly see in his mind the fond look Bane gave him when he called him ‘desert flower’. As mysterious as the man was he did not seem to hate humanity.

_If I’m right that Bane doesn’t want to burn Gotham_ , Johan thought, _then whose actual plan is this?_

Bane and Barsad were standing at the door waiting for Johan to move; the boy had remained stationary while rapidly moving through his thoughts.

_I want to test out my hunch_ , Johan decided. The boy looked at both of them before speaking.

“Whose orders are you following?” Johan asked.

As soon as the words left his mouth Bane’s eyes focused sharply and even Barsad’s drowsy gaze perked up minutely. Barsad looked at Bane but the masked man kept his eyes honed on Johan.

“What did you say?” Bane asked quietly. He took a step back into the room, closer to Johan.

_Bingo_ , Johan thought, _I knew a guy who loved flowers wouldn’t think this up_.

“The plans to finish Ra’s al Ghul’s work aren’t your idea,” Johan said clearly. “So, whose plan is it?”

Bane stepped closer and stood so close that his chest touched Johan. The boy looked defiantly upwards at the taller man, his vision traveling up the mask to rest on the gray eyes. Johan looked worse than he felt; his left eye was swollen and sticky blood had hardened on the side of his face and below his nose. Bane rested his hand gently around Johan’s neck, stoking the soft flesh under his jaw with a thumb; his eyes were shining with an emotion the boy could only interpret as pride.

“My desert flower blooms even more,” he wheezed as he lightly traced fingers over Johan’s lips, “you are sharp to ask such a question.”

Bane’s fingers were now rubbing against the caked blood under the boy’s nose.

“Will you answer me?” Johan prodded.

“No,” Bane said.

Johan detected the movement but didn’t try to block it. The large hand deftly moved and pressed over Johan’s mouth. The boy tried to suck in air through his nose but it was still clogged; he watched Bane with irritation in his eyes. The man’s other hand grasped a fresh bruise on Johan’s right side under his shirt, the spot Bane had dealt a nasty punch to his kidney; the man squeezed his hand tightly around the mottled flesh and Johan clenched his eyes shut from the burn of pressure.

“Ask that question again,” Bane rasped as he leveled his mask with the boy’s ear, “and before Mr. Wayne dies he will watch me break your neck, my desert flower.”

Johan felt the man’s hot breath for a few long moments before he let go and walked away. The boy bent over and gulped in a mouthful of air. Bane had already left the room and called to Johan from the outer hallway.

“Hurry, Joseph. We have talked enough,” his distant voice said. “Time to move to our new accommodations. I think you will approve of them.”

_I’ve had too much oxygen deprivation today_ , Johan thought tiredly, _as long as where we’re going has fresh air I’ll be happy_.

After grabbing his coat from the dresser Johan walked out the door and followed behind Bane’s distant form moving down the tunnel. Barsad was trailing behind the boy. Bane was still a distance away, his back to them, when Johan felt a tap on his shoulder; he turned as he continued walking.

Barsad was holding out a handkerchief. Johan stared a second before he took it; it was soaked with water.

The man lifted his hand and gestured at his own face, pointing to his nose and forehead.

“For the blood,” Barsad explained quietly.

_Guess he feels guilty about my head_ , Johan figured.

Johan nodded and gave Barsad a grin. “Thanks.”

Barsad tilted his head in acknowledgement. Johan turned back around and began dabbing at his face, the white cloth quickly becoming reddish pink. His footsteps echoed in the sewer tunnels as they moved closer to street level, or so Johan assumed from the fresher air ahead. They made of series of turns that Johan mentally stored in his brain. Soon they came to a dead end. Or at least what appeared to be.

There was a rusty metal ladder that traveled up into a black void above. The air was less stale in the vertical shaft.

"Climb quickly," Bane said.

The ladder was sturdier than it appeared as it held the weight of the large mercenary. Bane was ten rungs off the ground when Johan proceeded to climb. Only the sound of their breathing bounced off the small space of the dark chimney-like tunnel. The ladder stretched on for quite some time and the boy had time for contemplation.

_What have I done?_ Johan wondered. _Gotham is going to somehow end up burned to ashes. And while Bruce is in agony somewhere I’ve agreed to be locked in a room all day as Bane’s little sex toy. If I had known the scale of the League’s plan I would never have made the deal. But maybe my mistake could help in some way…_

There was still the mystery of the person who Bane was taking orders from; there was no doubt left in Johan’s mind that this was the case. Bane’s violent threat was enough evidence in itself that Johan had riled the hornet’s nest of truth. It was possible that Johan could find out this person’s identity and stop this insane plot.

_Millions of lives depend on the League being taken out_ , Johan thought, _and I’m in a good position to help somehow_.

Johan saw Bane disappear up above. After a few more steps the ladder ended and opened to another corridor. He stepped onto solid ground and Bane kept a hand on the boy's shoulder as they waited for Barsad to emerge.

The three of them continued to walk down the tunnel towards the approaching outside world. Johan felt a breeze against his face and couldn’t help but smile at the clean air; the boy saw Bane looking at him, the man’s eyes crinkling. Without a word Bane strode to the exit of the tunnel, Johan close behind him. The drips of water falling from the ceiling pipes onto the sewer floor grew fainter and fainter as if this time below ground was only a distant memory.


	6. Chapter 6

_Present day, September_

Johan had gone to Bane’s chosen meeting place. It was just as it had looked in November except that Two Brothers Bagels had since closed down; its front windows were long smashed open by thugs looking to sell any industrial kitchen equipment. After leaving the docks Johan made his way over to the hidden garage Bruce used to store the Bat, Batman’s tactical plane, and hopped on the waiting motorcycle that now occupied the space.

The bike was a Ducati Monster 1100 EVO; a high performance street bike that rivaled Johan’s stealth suit as the most coveted possession in his inventory. Johan understood why Bruce favored the Batmobile with its immense power and explosive capabilities, but Johan’s style was always more subtle, his preference being to weave in and out of places quickly while still maintaining top speed. Hence, the bike was his vehicle of choice.

The boy had parked the bike inside the first floor of an abandoned convenience store a block away from the bagel shop; it was after midnight and the area was unsurprisingly deserted. Still he concealed the bike in the corner of the store behind a leaning shelf.

_Can’t be too careful_ , Johan rationalized. His previous bike, a Ducati 848, had been snatched off the street after Johan had left it before entering the sewers all those months ago. The boy decided that wouldn't happen again. Ever.

He took the cautious route and searched the street of the rendezvous point, quickly doing a cursory scan of the roofs and alleyways to see if Bane was hiding out in the shadows to attempt pouncing on Johan unawares.

But there was no sign of him. The street remained empty and the only sound was the summer wind gusting over littered newspapers on the road.

_He has to know I’m here, I haven’t been exactly hiding myself_ , Johan figured, _why won’t he show himself_?

Johan stood on the roof ledge of Two Brothers Bagels, sweeping his head from one side of the street to the other, making himself as visible as possible atop the building.

_Maybe I’m wrong_ , Johan thought suddenly, _maybe Bane doesn’t want to meet here. I may have to hunt him down after all_.

The boy heaved out a puff of air. The night was humid and Johan’s skin was sticky; the suit aided in evaporating excess moisture but it couldn’t get all of it. Johan much preferred the colder months; his body kept warm from both the suit and nanomachines while his skin stayed dry. The summer heat always made him feel uncomfortable in his uniform.

Tired of waiting, he hung from the edge of the roof ledge before dropping down into a crouch on the street below. He walked into the center of the road, circling his body a whole 360 degrees to look around.

“I’m here!” he called out. His voice echoed in the hot air. “You didn’t have to kill the guy to get my attention!”

Still the street was silent.

“Are you here?” The boy asked loudly. Another minute ticked by and Johan scratched his hair through his mask.

_I may have made a mistake_ , Johan realized, _maybe I saw what I wanted to see in Victor Cowell’s file. What if Bane really is dead?_

“I think I’m getting rusty,” the boy said quietly aloud.

“A person who is _rusty_ would not have been able to follow my clues,” a voice said from the darkness.

Johan quickly turned around and was ready to dive away at the sight of a firearm; he unsheathed his stick and held it ready in a defensive stance. What he saw was an unarmed man standing a few feet outside the doorway of the laundromat. The upper half of his body was covered in shadow; Johan, in the meantime, remained exposed in the middle of the street.

The boy’s first thought was: _This guy’s good_.

Johan had actually looked in through the window of the laundromat earlier and hadn’t seen anyone inside, only run down coin machines and gigantic, broken clothing dryers. Even if this man had managed to hide out of view Johan still hadn’t heard him walk out into the street; and unlike with Victor Cowell, Johan wasn’t distracted fighting a behemoth this time to not notice footsteps.

_How did I not hear him?_ Johan wondered as he studied the figure before him. _He’s trained, that’s for sure._

“You do not mind your surroundings,” the man said smoothly; his voice sounded like honey to Johan’s ears. “It was too easy to close in on you from behind.”

Johan shrugged and said, “I guess I really am rusty then.”

The man was still half veiled in shadow; he was waiting silently.

“So _you_ killed Victor Cowell,” the boy prompted.

The man’s head was a dark silhouette but Johan saw it tilt forward in a nod.

“I have been waiting here two nights since his demise,” the man said. “I did not know when you would arrive.”

_He knew to kill Cowell to draw me here?_ Johan mused. _How? Is he acquainted with Bane? He must be to have planned this._

“So you know Bane,” Johan stated.

“I do,” the man replied as he took two steps forward into the light.

He was older and quite tall, at least a head over Johan’s height. His accent seemed to be from England and it had an aristocratic quality that Johan likened to landed gentry of the past. His clothes were also well tailored; he was dressed in a black three-piece suit in spite of the September heat, complete with a necktie that was fashioned in a knot Johan was not familiar with. The hair around his mouth was grown in a style that the boy had never seen worn before; it was a goatee, but the sides went beyond the man’s chin and were sheared into points.

“Before these last few months,” the man continued, his hands elegantly placed in his suit jacket pockets, “I had seen neither Bane nor Talia for close to a decade. Bane, you see, was my greatest pupil. That is, until the Detective made his way up my mountain.”

The man then smiled and took another step towards the boy. Johan was still standing in the middle of the road with fifteen feet between them.

“The man you killed, Victor Cowell. He looked like he’d been killed by Bane,” the boy said.

The man’s eyes were sparkling. “My dear boy, who do you think taught Bane such a technique? I must say, that manner of snapping the neck is my favorite.”

_Great,_ Johan thought with sarcasm. _He has preferred ways of killing people._

“Bane tells me you surpass both he and Bruce in your fighting techniques,” the man said pleasantly. “I had given up hope of seeing a warrior such as you in my lifetime.”

The man gave a ghost of a smile. “Although, you need to heighten your detection skills.”

“Who the hell are you?” Johan called.

The man smiled. “I thought you would be able to answer that for yourself. You were, after all, the Detective’s partner.”

“You make it seem like you were Batman’s teacher,” Johan said.

“That is precisely the case,” the man replied, “He was my greatest student. A shame how things ended between us.”

_Ra’s al Ghul_ , Johan thought blankly, _I think I’m talking with Ra’s al Ghul. But that can’t be..._

“If you’re Ra’s al Ghul,” Johan stated, “then Bruce killed you. You can’t be him.”

“I warned Bruce that I was immortal,” the man smiled sinisterly, “I, Ra’s al Ghul, cannot be killed as easily as a mortal man.”

_So he is Ra’s, then_ , Johan thought with amazement.

Out of all the thoughts in Johan’s mind ( _Didn’t Bruce say he died in that train crash? Bane said he was dead!_ ), the boy said what he was most curious to know.

“Is Bane alive?” he asked.

“Very much so,” the man answered, “But…”

Ra’s took out a hand and folded his fingers into his palm, as if examining his nails.

“He is being punished for his infractions. I will not have a rogue League member causing untold havoc in my name.”

_Bane’s being punished?_ Johan thought, gazing at the eerily placid look in Ra’s eyes. The boy looked down at the street; he could still vaguely spot the smeared chalk used on the asphalt to mark evidence around Victor Cowell’s dead body.

_Ra’s killed a guy to get me here_ , Johan thought angrily, _so what the hell is his game?_

“Why did you want to meet me?” Johan asked forcefully. “What do you want?”

Ra’s took a step towards Johan and put one hand out in a placating gesture, bending down at the waist in his direction. The boy observed the man’s odd motions suspiciously.

_He’s bowing to me?_ Johan thought incredulously. If Johan’s mask was off he was sure the man would find his look of confusion amusing.

“I have summoned you here for the purpose of a business proposition,” the man said and eventually stood up to straighten his back, his eyes fixing their glare back on the boy.

“Um,” Johan said startled, “you don’t want to kill me for Talia’s death? Wasn’t she your daughter?”

“That is true. However, I do not wish that. I know it was the Detective who ended her life.”

“Uh,” the boy stumbled again for something to say. “You want me to… _work_ with you?”

“That is indeed the meaning of a business proposal,” the man said with a smile.

“You told me Bane is alive,” Johan said with puzzlement. “Can’t you use him as your assistant?”

“I have already said that he is currently being punished for his actions,” Ra’s explained carefully. “He is in no state to assist me. However, _you_ , Shadow,” the man said and opened his hands in an excited burst, “your reputation precedes you. I require your prodigious skills.”

“Um, thanks, I guess. But you make it seem like Bane did something wrong,” Johan pointed out. “He was just doing the same thing you tried to do before.”

“Yes, that did appear to be so,” Ra’s said with a deep exhale, “but I cannot ignore my ex-pupil when he parades himself as a crusader for my ideals.”

“Bane was only following Talia’s orders; she was the one in charge, not him,” Johan stated.

The older man shook his head and took three paces to the left, glancing up at the stars in the sky. There were no clouds and the constellations above were shining brilliantly; Johan wasn’t adept at astronomy, but the night was clear enough for him to recognize a few of the more common constellations.

“My misguided, foolhardy daughter,” Ra’s said as he looked upward. “In her haste she did not even search for my body to cremate the remains. The heat of anger within her matched that of the stars. She took my death as the chance to seek out her own trivial revenge on Bruce and this city for my passing. The purpose of the League of Shadows, my vehicle to execute justice upon the world, had been reduced to a pitiful means for a bitter girl’s vengeance against a man in a cape.”

The man looked to Johan then with a sorrowful stare. “Talia brought me much shame. Bane is now suffering in her stead.”

_What is going on?_ Johan asked inwardly _. This is the man who personally tried to destroy Gotham in the past. But now he’s punishing Bane for trying to do the same thing?_

“Why didn’t you let them know you weren’t dead?” the boy questioned.

“I was in hiding for those years after Bruce defeated me,” Ra’s explained. “The train incident had weakened me and I needed to replenish my strength in isolation. There are parts of my life that I keep to myself, even from my own daughter. You see, Joseph,” the man said with a glint in his eyes, “my body requires certain… _tonics_ for its upkeep. I had hoped that, while I healed, Talia would undertake no brash actions as the new head of the League of Shadows. I was quite mistaken.”

_Sounds like he goes to some magical vacation spa_ , Johan mused.

“I don’t understand why you’re angry for what they did,” Johan said, “Talia and Bane were completing your unfinished work, according to them anyway.”

“My priorities concerning the League have changed,” Ra’s said sharply. “I no longer wish to destroy Gotham, or any other metropolis for that matter. I seek a new means to enact justice.”

He inclined his head to Johan. “That is why I require your assistance, Joseph.”

_He knows my name,_ Johan thought, _I wasn’t expecting this: Ra’s al Ghul, the Demon’s Head in the flesh, wants my help._

“Did Bane tell you my name?” the boy investigated.

“He did, among other details that I asked of him.”

“And he told you everything you wanted?”

“In their entirety, yes,” Ra’s said with a merciless gleam.

Ra’s’ eyes were cold and calculating, the kind of gaze Johan had been expecting to see on Bane. The Demon’s blue-eyed stare was distant, as if he were playing a game of chess where he already knew his opponent’s moves. He may be talking to Johan presently, but his eyes had a look of preternatural confidence just as though he had already been informed of this evening’s outcome; Johan found it unsettling.

“Well then,” Johan told the man, “if you talked to Bane, he probably told you I’d turn down your proposition.”

Ra’s gave a slight put-upon frown. The man scraped the sole of his dress shoe on the street below.

“You don’t want to hear the particulars?” the man asked blandly, his eyes suddenly emotionless.

“No,” Johan said.

“Bane told me you share in the Detective’s weakness of not killing those guilty of their criminality,” Ra’s spoke as he lifted up his thick eyebrows. “Am I correct in assuming you still trust in that same absurd notion?”

“You are,” Johan responded tightly. He ground his teeth. “Maybe if you hadn’t killed Cowell to get me here I would consider hearing more about your offer.”

Ra’s flicked off a mosquito that had landed on his suit lapel. “There are many others like Cowell in this city, criminals whose lives must be ended for justice to move forward.”

“So are you going to try and blow up the city? Again?” Johan seethed and his hands curled into fists.

_It’s only been six months since the Occupation_ , Johan thought. _Gotham can’t take another beating so soon._

“My new approach will not require every citizen to die,” Ra’s answered lightly, “It only demands that a chosen few in the city are removed from this life.”

“Like the Joker?”

“No, no,” Ra’s said with a dramatic shake of his head, “I will not kill those who are such obvious targets. I wish to remove those in power that are praised for their dignity and are respected. Those who rule in their upper echelons with deceit and corruption need to be destroyed.”

“So you’re going to kill the corrupt leaders?”

Ra’s smiled; Johan found it nauseating. “If I judge them as guilty, then yes.”

“Who would you kill?” Johan asked. “The new Mayor for using loopholes in his taxes? The District Attorney who cheated on his wife? Anyone can be considered dirty in some way or another. You don’t get to choose who lives or dies.”

“Oh but I do, Joseph,” Ra’s replied in a purr, “I have been blessed with the gift of clarity to see the truth of a man and determine his fate. In this way you will assist me in eradicating those whom I deem unbefitting to live.”

_This is like talking to Bane all over again_ , Johan thought with exasperation.

“You know, Ra’s,” Johan spoke sourly, “there are people like journalists and officers in internal affairs that sort this stuff out and expose peoples’ dirty laundry. Your plan isn’t needed. These things take care of themselves."

The older man’s face visibly reddened and his eyes glinted as if made of unbreakable metal.

“For one such as you to lecture _me_ about operating within the law displays your impudence,” Ra’s said coldly, his eyes glimmering with what Johan could only call hatred. “You and the Detective announce your love of societal regulation yet you both brazenly move outside its reach.”

“Even if that’s true,” Johan said icily, “Batman and I never killed criminals just because it’s easier than working to keep them behind bars. Your method isn’t the right way, Ra’s, it’s the lazy way.”

“The people I will target deserve death. I will eradicate them and the structures that house their sordidness,” Ra’s declared.

“In that case their fate should be decided by a jury,” Johan said and shook his head at Ra’s. “Not decided by a madman.”

The older man’s face steeled into a stony glare at the insult; he puffed his chest out and returned his hands to his pockets.

“Is that your last word on my offer?” Ra’s asked.

Johan nodded. “It is.”

“Then I do not regret this,” the man said. Johan titled his head questioningly as Ra’s pulled out a small remote-like device from inside his jacket. The metal of the casing was shining in the moonlight.

_What’s that thing?_ Johan wondered.

“There was part of me that did not wish to resort to this,” Ra’s stated slowly. His lips curled into a smile. “But my desire to see you suffer is greater.”

Johan’s brows wrinkled beneath the mask. _I don’t understand what he’s talking about._

“What’re you-,” he managed to get out before Ra’s pushed down his thumb on a button.

Johan’s world exploded into searing heat. His body immediately collapsed to the ground and the fighting stick slipped through his fingers, clanging noisily on the ground. The boy saw a venomous smile on the man’s face; his eyes were alight with glee.

_Burning heat, blazing fire_ , Johan groaned inwardly as he curled up into a ball, _my blood boiling. It’s the damn nanomachines!_

As Johan looked into those hateful eyes, he had one thought: _I need to warn Gordon_.

A memory erupted as the boy’s head smacked against the blacktop.

_The day was chilly, but the hint of spring was seeping into the air as tree buds started blooming on branches in the parks. The hours of daylight were growing longer and children were playing later into the evenings outside of their houses. The Occupation had ended less than two weeks earlier and the city was just now truly emerging from its shell shock; the nightmare of Bane and the bomb was over._

_Johan was watching Commissioner Gordon move about the roof of the Gotham Police Department headquarters. From his resting place on top of the building next door the boy could see Gordon shuffling around the smashed skeleton of the Bat-Signal. The man had a flashlight in his hand and was leaning over the circular metal edge of the beacon, shining his light across the damaged parts. It was well past midnight and the Commissioner had climbed the stairs up to the roof for a coffee break._

_The boy elegantly jumped to the police roof below, landing on the side opposite Gordon without a noise. He stood up straight and looked on as the man persisted in his endeavor to inspect the broken symbol._

_“Are you going to fix it, Commissioner?” Johan called from his position._

_Gordon nearly stumbled over and had to steady himself on the curved metal corner of the contraption. He glanced to the side and gave Johan a feeble wave._

_“You’re going to give me heart attack,” he said tiredly, standing straight and shining his flashlight in Johan’s direction. “You’ve been gone for almost two weeks, Shadow. I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”_

_“I had to leave Gotham for a while, Gordon,” Johan explained as he walked closer, “but I’m ready to help.”_

_Gordon sighed and nodded, picking up the mug of coffee he had placed on the ground._

_“It’s good to have you back, Shadow. The department is still in shambles. I had to listen to Bullock and Montoya bicker all day about their amounts of backed up paperwork,” he said before taking a sip. He looked down in his cup as he swirled the liquid within._

_“So are you going to fix it?” Johan asked as he pointed to the Bat-Signal._

_“Yes, I think I will. It’s about time Batman was restored to his rightful place over Gotham.”_

_There was silence as neither of them spoke. Gordon and breathed out audibly before saying, “You weren’t at the funeral.”_

_“I wanted to be there,” Johan said regretfully._

_“Mr. Pennyworth was there. It was the first time I met him,” Gordon explained. “A Mr. Fox also came. Now I know how Bruce was able to bear the weight of the Dark Knight before you came along. He had them on his side.”_

_“Alfred told me you read a passage from Dickens,” the boy mentioned. “That was kind of you, Gordon.”_

_The man took another sip and Johan saw his eyes were sorrowful. “I wish I could have done more for Bruce. If I had known earlier, maybe known who he really was, I could have done more…” He stopped and sipped again._

_“You did more than Batman ever wanted,” Johan reassured, “and he would appreciate that you’re still working with me to get Gotham on its feet again.”_

_“I hope so,” Gordon said strongly as he stared at Johan. “I won’t let his death be for nothing. Gotham will rebuild itself sturdier than it was before.”_

_“It will, sir,” Johan said. “Do you have anything for me tonight?”_

_“Not right this second,” Gordon said and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Some Blackgate prisoners have popped up on the radar. I could go through some files that are worth pursuing and have them for you tomorrow night.”_

_“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”_

_Johan began to walk towards the edge of the roof._

_“Wait a second, Shadow,” Gordon said quickly, his fingers tapping on the mug nervously. “How…how’re you holding up?”_

_Johan watched Gordon hesitantly behind the mask._

_What does Gordon mean? Johan wondered._

_“I’m fine, Commissioner. No injuries, I’m ready to take some leads anytime.”_

_“That’s not what I was referring to,” Gordon said quietly. “Am I wrong to think you and Bruce were close?”_

_Johan gazed toward the broken Bat-Signal; shards of glass had been shattered and he could still see the unswept clear speckles reflecting light from the moon overhead._

_“No, you’re not. He was my friend, sir,” Johan said slowly._

_“Are you handling everything okay?” the man asked. His concern was genuine, at least to Johan’s ears._

_“I miss him” Johan said, “but his death doesn’t affect my ability to still help you or Gotham.”_

_Gordon studied Johan once more. “Batman wasn’t a man who easily trusted others. He didn’t tell me who he was until right before he died.”_

_“That wasn’t a slight to you,” Johan spoke. “Bruce resisted telling people his identity unless it was a last resort. It was his way of protecting you, Gordon.”_

_“Still, that must mean you’re something special, son,” Gordon said and took a long sip of his coffee. “He trusted you with his life every night.”_

_“He did,” Johan said with fondness, “and he watched my back, too.”_

_Gordon was staring at the Bat-Signal before he spoke. “Bruce was a better man than he thought he was. He wouldn’t even let me thank him before he flew to take the bomb.”_

_Johan cleared his throat before replying, “He never accepted the gratitude of others. Batman didn’t think he was deserving of it. He always tried to be better but everything he did never seemed to be enough for him.”_

_Gordon nodded. “But he died a hero. I hope he realized that before the bomb went off.”_

_“He did,” Johan answered. I’m he sure he knew in the end, the boy thought to himself._

_A gust of wind swept over the roof and Johan could see how fast the clouds were traveling across the sky. The noise of the city seemed distant; even though the weather was warmer, people were still prone to staying inside without venturing far from home. Families wanted to stay safe within their houses and apartments, quite understandable after what Gotham had gone through. The usual city buzz of honking cars and chattering voices were diminished now than before the Occupation. Johan hoped the usual vibrant life of the city would revive itself soon._

_“Do you have a place to stay, son?” the man said suddenly._

_The boy looked down from the sky and saw Gordon’s face was full of concern; it was an expression Johan had seen aimed at Bruce many times._

_Johan stood still, replaying Gordon’s words in his mind. The question was unexpected. He and the Commissioner had had numerous conversations on this same rooftop, but they were always superficial. To delve into personal information only opened up new and frightening possibilities of danger to everyone involved; it was why Bruce had spared Gordon of his identity. Johan liked the Commissioner, though, and did know a decent amount regarding the man’s private life; he was one of the few men whom the boy had seen live by the words he spoke. Both Bruce and Johan had trouble trusting others, yet Gordon had squeezed himself into their guarded lives._

_“Um, Commissioner,” the boy replied tentatively, “I don’t know what you mean.”_

_“With Bruce gone, I didn’t know if you were alone,” Gordon stated, his gaze remaining attentive as if he could see through the boy’s mask._

_“Thanks for caring,” Johan stated, “but I do have a place to stay.”_

_“Do you have anyone else? Any family or friends here in Gotham?”_

_“Alfred and I are close,” Johan said._

_Gordon tipped his glasses up his nose with a finger. “I recall Mr. Pennyworth telling me at the funeral that he was going back to England.”_

_“Yeah,” Johan said and scratched his hair under the fabric of the mask. “He left for London a few days ago.”_

_“Then there’s no one,” the man said in a blunt tone._

_“It’s fine, Commissioner,” Johan said firmly, “I can still help you without Batman. I don’t need anyone to get the job done.”_

_“I don’t doubt your capability, son. I’m just worried for you,” Gordon said._

_He started approaching Johan, his dress shoes scraping on the roof as he walked. The man came within arm’s reach from the boy and stopped, raising his hand to sip his coffee. From this close Johan could see how drained the man looked with his dark eyes and graying hair._

_“You don’t have to worry, sir, I can take care of myself,” Johan said._

_Gordon’s eyes moved over the mask, specifically hovering where Johan’s eyes were covered._

_“How old are you, Shadow?” he asked._

_“Old enough.”_

_“My son probably isn’t that much younger than you.”_

_“Maybe,” Johan said._

_This is strange, the boy thought, what’s Gordon getting at?_

_“You’re too young to carry a burden like this,” Gordon said, his eyes overflowing with more concern. “I don’t want you to die for your cause like Bruce.”_

_“I’ve always known the risks of this job, sir, and I do it willingly,” Johan stated._

_Gordon was still looking at him; the man was close enough that he had to lower his head down because of Johan’s smaller height._

_“Your skills are amazing, Shadow, and Gotham is better because of you,” Gordon said, “but is there any way I can convince you to live a normal life? You’ve done so much good and don’t owe this city anything else.”_

_“I do owe them, Commissioner. My reasons are my own, but just know that I do,” Johan told the man as he titled his head upwards to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to make me think otherwise.”_

_Gordon stared unmoving at Johan and then swirled the liquid in his mug._

_“I let Bruce down,” the man said. “I won’t do the same to you.”_

_“You didn’t let him down,” the boy stated, “and I know you won’t disappoint me either.”_

_“Even so, I’m not going to stand by and just give you the city’s trash to take out. I need to do more.”_

_“I’m fine, Commissioner, really, I am. You don’t need to do anything,” Johan said._

_The boy placed his hand over Gordon’s arm. It was the first time he had ever touched the Commissioner, but it felt right in this moment. Gordon didn’t flinch or try to move away so Johan saw that as a good sign. He promptly removed it when the man went to take another drink from the mug. The coffee must have finally been gone because Gordon titled his head back to get the last drops of caffeine. Gordon then looked at the white mug after swallowing; the rim was chipped and it had the Gotham PD logo plastered on the front, an eagle complete with a crown and two olive branches curving along its sides. He brushed his thumb over the chip._

_“At your place,” Gordon said quietly as he still studied the mug. “Do you pay rent?”_

_“Um,” the boy spoke carefully. “Yeah. Why?”_

_Gordon gazed up and smiled. “I’ve been looking for a housemate. If you agreed, I think we’d both gain something.”_

_This is out of the blue, the boy thought._

_“Your house?” Johan asked. “What about your family, sir?”_

_Gordon shook his head and averted his gaze from the boy. “I called my wife after the Occupation ended, to let her know I was still alive. She was relieved that I’m doing well, but Gotham will never again be home for her.” He sighed. “Or for my children.”_

_Poor Gordon, Johan thought, he has a family but isn’t able to be with them. He’s alone just like me. That is, unless I consider this offer…_

_“Commissioner, you don’t even know who I really am,” Johan pointed out. “You can’t possibly feel safe letting me live with you.”_

_“Batman trusted you, so I know that I can, too,” Gordon said._

_“If I were to live at your place, would you still give me information to help the police?” Johan asked him. “You won’t be able to persuade me to stop being the Shadow just because I live with you.”_

_“I know that, son, you made your intentions clear,” Gordon replied. “I think it would make it easier for me to give you information and leads if you lived at my house.”_

_“You mean not having to meet on rooftops in the middle of the night to exchange info?” the boy suggested with a smile that Gordon couldn’t see._

_“Exactly,” Gordon said. “And in return for your services to Gotham, your rent will be free of charge.” The man was grinning._

_“So if I get to stay free, what do you get?” Johan asked._

_“I get to keep an eye on you,” Gordon said. Now it was his turn to put his hand on the boy’s arm, giving it a light press in the process. “Bruce had Alfred and Mr. Fox to help him. I want to do the same for you, son. I’m not going to let you fight this battle alone.”_

_Jim Gordon, Johan thought warmly, the man who is too good for this world._

_Johan was overwhelmed. Gordon was offering his home to a stranger, a boy whose face he’d never seen; it was too much of a kindness. The boy was surprised countless times at how much decency and selflessness the Commissioner displayed while doing his duty for Gotham. As weary as the man looked, he was never empty of passion to get the job done. This city wasn’t aware of the rare gem they possessed in the form of Jim Gordon, the man who never quit no matter how insurmountable the odds. Johan grew angry knowing that if the League had succeeded, Gordon would have been turned to ash, his goodness consumed by fire._

_“Commissioner, I…” Johan stopped. He was at a loss for words._

_“Please say you accept, son,” Gordon said and squeezed the hand still resting on Johan’s arm, “I can’t do much for you, but let me do this.”_

_Johan had seen firsthand what guilt could do to a person who felt responsible for someone, especially when that person couldn’t protect those they cared for. Bruce had been engulfed with regret from Rachel’s death; Johan couldn’t let the same thing happen to Gordon if the Shadow died defending the city. By agreeing to Gordon’s proposal, the man could possibly have a clearer conscious if something grave were to happen to Johan. More so, the boy wanted this; he didn’t want to be alone, not so soon after living with Bane all of those months. Johan needed to calm the thoughts swimming in his head and the best way to do that would be to hear the soothing, practical voice of Jim Gordon each day._

_Bruce thought of Gordon as a sort of father, Johan realized inwardly, and maybe I do, too._

_With that thought Johan made his decision._

_The boy reached one hand up and deliberately peeled off the mask, scrunching the fabric into a ball in his grasp. He saw Gordon’s eyes widen in shock._

_“You’re younger than I thought,” the man said as he straightened his glasses._

_“I’m older than I look,” Johan stated. He held out his hand and gave Gordon a smile. “My name’s Joe, Commissioner.”_

_Gordon quickly recovered from his startled gaping and grinned in return, grasping Johan’s hand firmly and shaking it with gusto. “Good to meet you, Joe. Does this mean you’ll be moving in?”_

_“It does, sir.”_

_“In that case, call me ‘Jim’, son. ‘Sir’ makes me feel like an old man.”_

_Gordon patted Johan’s shoulder and the boy chuckled. He moved his things over to Gordon’s house the next day._

The boy was face down on the ground, doubled over and resting his masked forehead on broken asphalt pebbles. His hands were clutching his sides and he was trying hard to breathe, rocking back and forth to dull the searing pain rolling through him.

_Gordon_ , Johan thought desperately, _I_ _need to warn Gordon that this psycho’s in town. If I die here he’ll have no warning, no way to stop him..._

He saw a pair of dress shoes approach his face, the soles clacking on the street. When the man was close he swiftly kicked away Johan’s fighting stick that had clanged to the ground. A wave of pain shuddered through the boy’s entire body. He began to convulse on the ground, trying not to injure his head on the hard street. Another harsh wave of agony racked his body and Johan tumbled over onto his back, his hands searching the ground in hopes of grasping some purchase to hold him steady from the trembling. The wave soon faded and Johan was left panting on the street, staring up at the stars while his chest heaved up and down.

“A fascinating thing, your nanomachines,” Ra’s said from above Johan’s shaking body. “They are such tiny objects, capable of granting their host a great deal of strength and agility.”

He held up the small remote in his large, vein-covered hands; the shiny metal was glimmering from the reflected starlight.

“Or, in this case,” Ra’s said as his eyes gleamed, “they can bestow upon you unspeakable torment.”

_How…is he…doing this?_ Johan thought with panic. He was having difficulty keeping the thoughts straight in his head from the amount of torture Ra’s was inflicting with his secret remote.

Johan’s head snapped back as another sickening current of torture rolled through him. He felt as if he would vomit; weakly his hands tried to tear the mask off to get more air. Ra’s saw his arms flailing clumsily and crouched down, straddling the boy with his legs and violently ripping the mask away. Johan immediately closed his eyes and retched onto the street, his stomach cramping as he continued to dry heave after all the bile had ejected itself. That wave finally ended and Johan was close to passing out from the pain.

“A pity how easily you are beaten, Joseph,” Ra’s said in feigned compassion, his face displaying a mockingly pathetic expression of concern. “Your nanomachines are an even bigger weakness than your inability to truly fight injustice.”

The boy was audibly gasping now as he tried to inhale; his abdominal muscles were contracting so tight that his diaphragm couldn’t move his lungs to allow the boy any air. Sweat soaked his skin as Johan stared at Ra’s haughty face hovering above him.

“You are quite handsome, Joseph,” Ra’s admitted, a finger slowly tracing down the boy’s wet cheek. “I can see why Bane decided to keep you. But I cannot spare any enemies of my plan, even one as exquisite as you.”

Ra’s lightly stroked his face and issued a shushing noise as the relentless pain swept through Johan again. The boy saw the corners of his vision begin to darken from lack of oxygen; he was going to pass out, leaving his body defenseless for Ra’s to finish off with ease.

_Can’t…die…now_ , he told himself, _not…yet…_

“It disappoints me that I have to kill you now,” Ra’s taunted. He had taken both his large hands and was cradling Johan’s limp neck and head, looking into the boy’s fading eyes. Ra’s leaned forward and whispered smoothly, “I wanted to see your face as the Commissioner burns in fire. He is to be the first of the corrupt to suffer.”

“No…” Johan sputtered weakly.

Ra’s replaced the remote into his pocket and plucked out a silver dagger with an ornate handle; it had a jagged blade. His other hand clutched Johan’s smaller hands in its large grip. He lazily pressed the blade to the tan flesh of the boy’s neck where weak pulsations were throbbing underneath Johan’s skin. The man smiled and caressed Johan’s cheek once more.

“You will see the Commissioner in the afterlife,” he whispered. The knife began to slip through the tender skin, the boy’s body still shuddering from the ongoing assault to his nanomachines.

“Along with your Detective,” Ra’s murmured softly.

The dagger plunged deeper.

_No_ , Johan thought in weak desperation, _not yet_.

_Please_.

Time stood still.

Johan’s world became black. A strip of red cut through the darkness and set his mind aflame. He was truly awake. Images clashed inside his head: his parents riddled with bullets on the dusty ground, the wails of starving children in the slums, his shaking hands covered in blood. He heard the cacophony of voices shouting for mercy, only to be followed by the gurgles of throats being torn open. Too much, it was all too much - the cries of those begging for relief and the callousness of those unwilling to listen. They were calling to Johan, asking for him to spare them of their torment. He was just a boy, too small to help them. But he had to try. If he didn’t, they would consume his mind and soul.

_I want to help them._ Johan said. _How can I stop their pain?_

The barest of whispers entered the recesses of his head. It spoke a command: _‘Let go’._

_I can’t,_ Johan told the whisper _. Not again._

_‘But you must.’_

_He’ll die,_ Johan thought _. I’ll kill him if I do._

_‘There are some whom words will never reach.’_

Johan pleaded, _I could still try._

_‘It is too late for that. Let go.’_

Johan finally yielded, too weak to fight the whisper anymore.

Time began once more.

Johan’s mind became bare of thought and blackness prevailed.

Two thin hands shot upwards and stilled the man’s dagger by wrapping around Ra's' fingers. The force pushing against the weapon was strong and the man’s hand was steadily forced backwards, away from the sliced skin.

“What is-,” Ra’s gasped before he paused. His eyes were fixed on Johan’s gaze.

The boy’s eyes were stunningly luminous, practically glowing in the moonlight. His irises were the color of shimmering silver. The boy’s bodily quivering had ceased; aside from the hand holding Ra’s, the rest of his frame was still as stone.

“This is not possible,” the man uttered while grunting with exertion. “Your body is broken!”

Johan made no indication that he heard or comprehended what the man had spoken. The silver eyes gleamed in the night with a pale indifference; there was no anger or hatred present. The gaze was devoid of any emotion. There was merely emptiness.

Ra’s was now clasping the weapon with both hands, employing the weight of his upper body to strain the knife downward. But it was no use; the boy’s hands were like an unmovable force against the man’s fists griping the dagger. Then the boy clenched his fingers around Ra's' offending hands holding the knife.

The bones within crunched beneath the boy’s inhuman grip. Ra’s howled in agony as he tried to wrench his hands free, his body writhing over Johan’s smaller form; the silver eyes did not divert from their focus on the man’s grimace. Blood began to seep between Johan’s fastened grasp as the metacarpal bones erupted out from inside Ra’s skin. The man was shedding tears from the pain as Johan continued to clamp down, forcing blood, bone and tissue to rip apart in his hold. Moving his legs away from their position above the boy, Ra’s stepped to the side of Johan’s supine form and heaved his body upward, jerking against the relentless barrage of extraordinary pressure. The bones in the man’s hand proceeded to crack like chalk.

“Stop this, Joseph!” Ra’s pleaded as the boy started to bend the gnarled lump of bone and skin backwards, snapping the tendons on the back of Ra’s’ hands and wrists.

With brutal speed that Ra’s had no chance of dodging, Johan kicked out his foot and swept the man off his feet. Johan released his hands soaked with the other man’s blood to allow Ra’s to fall freely onto his back. The boy deftly stood up before the man had barely finished falling and stomped his boot against the man’s chest. The remote device shattered within the inside pocket and the metal fragments stabbed into the ribs and muscle underneath. Johan drove his foot down ruthlessly again in the same spot, causing the metal shards to puncture further into Ra's' torso; the boy heard the man’s sternum crack inward.

Johan patiently stood beside the collapsed heap below him. His eyes scanned Ra’s body with a detached coolness. Ra’s was protectively curling his arms to his chest, his large hands deformed with white fragments of bone peeking out from misshapen fingers. One wrist was bent back in the wrong direction while the other hand had been almost ripped from the forearm entirely; that hand was barely attached by a stretchy ligament. Soon Ra’s started to cough weakly; each inhale was shallow and his breathing was shaky. Blood speckled on Ra’s’ lips after each exhale from the perforated lung.

“You…are…deserving,” the man stumbled while red liquid dribbled out the corner of his mouth. “You…have finally…learned.”

“Learned what?” Johan said. The tone was flat and absent of inflection, silver eyes remaining blank.

“To do…” Ra’s struggled, “what is… _necessary_.”

Johan stiffened at the man’s word choice, his silver eyes flickering between gold and their present gray. He took a hesitant step back.

_Killing isn’t necessary!_ Johan’s voice screamed in his mind. _Stop this! NOW!_

The tempting voice whispered again.

_‘But it must be done.’_

_Shut the hell up and go away!_ Johan yelled furiously.

The boy took another step away, rattling his head and blinking rapidly as he looked to the moon. His eyes returned to their golden hue.

It was as if the empty darkness clouding his mind lifted. Johan was suddenly dizzy; the boy shook his head back and forth, blinking his eyes a few more times. He surveyed the area as he turned his head from one end of the street to the other.

_Where’s Ra’s?_ He wondered in confusion. Johan lifted his hands and saw the wet blood on his gloves. Then he heard the wet gasping.

Johan peered down to see the beaten form of Ra’s; he sucked in a gulp of air sharply. The boy crouched down and ghosted his hands over the man’s crumpled extremities and blood soaked chest. Johan reached up and felt the shallow stab wound where the dagger had entered his own neck.

_What have I done?_ He asked in horror. _I only blacked out for a moment…_

There had been one other occasion when the nanomachines had exerted their control, forcing Johan’s primal instincts to take over in cases of life-threatening provocation. That instance had resulted in a dozen people being mercilessly slaughtered by the boy’s own hands. It had been several years since then and Johan had thought he had the nanomachines under his control.

_I was wrong_ , Johan thought as he stared at Ra’s' fading form. _He won’t last long_.

“Ra’s…” Johan spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“Your…eyes,” the man said before coughing up some red blood. He took a few shallow breaths before continuing. “They were…those…of a…fiend.”

_The Devil’s Eyes_ , Johan remembered. _That’s what Marie called them_.

Ra’s face was beaded with sweat and his skin was pale; Johan knew he was bleeding internally. There was nothing he could do; the man would die in a few moments and he alone was accountable.

“Tell me where Bane is, Ra’s,” Johan pleaded and leaned close to the man’s face. He heard a tiny gurgle from the man’s mouth.

“In darkness…where he…belongs.”

Johan narrowed his eyes. _More riddles._

The man’s breath was growing shallower.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Johan said with regret. “I never want the death my enemies.”

“Death…is not…a penalty,” Ra’s spat out. “It is…a _gift_.”

Muscles in the man’s face shuddered. His eyes fixed on Johan’s face before the pupils dilated; he released a weak sigh and all became quiet. He was gone.

_I didn’t want this_ , the boy thought with sorrow. _Not again_.

A breeze swirled between the buildings and rumpled Johan’s sweaty hair. He reached into the man’s inside pocket and retrieved a few of the broken pieces of the remote to inspect later. Noticing something large in the same compartment, Johan fished deeper and pulled out a key, the kind to open a padlock; he took that as well. After one last look at the motionless corpse he stood up slowly, his legs sore from the recent attack on the nanomachines. His hand delved into his stealth suit and took out his communicator. He placed a call.

“Everything okay, son?” Gordon’s voice inquired with alarm. The man sounded tinny over the audio channel but Johan was comforted just to hear him.

“I’m fine, Jim, but I need you to do something,” Johan replied calmly.

“Tell me,” the man responded quickly.

“You may not be safe at the house,” the boy explained. “As soon as possible head to GCPD headquarters.”

There was a pause and Johan could hear Gordon breathing over the communicator. The boy had given the Commissioner his extra audio device as a safe line of contact; this was the first time Johan had considered it important enough to use.

“Are you hurt, son?” Gordon prodded. “You sound exhausted.”

“Jim, I’m fine. Please do as I say,” the boy said with a small hint of urgency, “You’re a target and it’d be better if you were surrounded by cops. Stay there until I contact you.”

“A target?” Gordon huffed. “Who’s after me?”

_Oh, the usual, Jim,_ Johan thought sarcastically. _Just a_ _crazy ninja organization that is bent on destroying people in Gotham. Better tell him the details later…_

“I don’t have all the information. Please, Jim, do it for me.”

Johan was asking the Commissioner to put a lot of trust in him without knowing any details. A moment of silence and then Gordon relented.

“I’ll leave as soon as I can, son.”

“Okay,” Johan said with relief, “You’ll hear from me soon.”

Johan cancelled the call and walked to the building that housed his bike.

_Gordon needs to lay low for a while_ , Johan figured, _Bane or other League members may still be following Ra’s orders._

He entered the convenience store and pushed off the shelf he had used to cover his motorcycle. As he was putting his helmet on the headgear slipped from his hands and banged on the tiled floor; his hands had abruptly started rattling. He studied his gloved fists closely, now covered in Ra’s blood. The fingers and palms were shaking uncontrollably and would not stop no matter how hard he tensed them. The shaking was sporadic and Johan folded his hands together to intertwine his fingers; the tremors continued.

This phenomenon had happened the same time each winter since the experiment. The problem was that this was the summer, not winter. This tic shouldn’t be happening, at least not now.

_If my hands are shaking this bad so early in the year_ , Johan thought darkly, _then_ _I’m going to go downhill fast_.

Johan waited a few minutes until the tremors mildly subsided. He had to go back to the underground Bat-headquarters right away; he had the stabilizer serum stored there. With his helmet eventually on he started up the bike and twisted the throttle down. The Ducati roared down the street and he zoomed away from Ra’s' corpse on the street behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

_7 months earlier, January_

“Your hands are becoming worse,” Bane rasped from the bed.

Johan looked up and saw Bane was watching him, the man’s book forgotten in his lap. The boy was curled on the window ledge and had been trying to read his own book, _The Count of Monte Cristo._  But the novel had been shaking so much in his grasp that he was having difficulty concentrating on Edmond digging his tunnel out of Chateau d’If. Johan noted his page number and put the book down, shoving his hands in his pant pockets.

“It’s nothing, Bane,” Johan replied. “I’m just a little jittery.”

The gray eyes studied him. “Perhaps you have been inside too long.”

“Maybe,” Johan said as looked back to the window.

Their room was the penthouse suite of the Four Seasons hotel. This particular suite was the nicest living area Johan had ever seen, and that was counting Bruce’s penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one whole wall of the area and there were several balconies with glass railings so the view of the city wasn’t impeded. The vista in the front overlooked Gotham’s Central Park while the city’s skyscrapers rose up in the other directions. In the living room, two enormous bookshelves lined an entire wall and several chaise lounge chairs sat in the center area. There was a gigantic bathroom housing a shower and tub, complete with slabs of onyx lining the heated floors. To top everything off, the master bedroom was larger than Bruce’s, and the bed was the biggest Johan had ever slept on.

 _The huge bed means I don’t have to sleep on top of Bane anymore_ , Johan thought dryly. _There’s plenty of room for the both of us._

Through the enormous windows Johan could see that the hotel was higher than its adjacent buildings to the east and west; no buildings were across from the front because the park spread out to the north. The south of the suite didn’t have windows in order to accommodate for their private elevator. Johan figured Bane picked this location since it hampered avenues of assault from any leftover GCPD: there were no nearby rooftops or buildings on level with their suite for a police sniper to get a clear shot at the mercenary.

But even though Johan could see the entire city before him, he was still kept inside the suite, unable to go out. This spacious area was a lot better than being confined to his little dark room in the sewers, but he yearned to go outside. He wasn’t even allowed onto one of the balconies without Bane or Barsad accompanying him. Johan assumed that they thought he would try to make a jump for it and escape. Not that Johan would; Bruce was still depending on him for survival. Each day the boy grew more anxious with nervous energy.

 _I definitely have cabin fever_ , the boy thought. _And I've overdue on my serum for the nanos. The damn things are making my hands shake._ Bane was still staring at the boy.

“I was planning to walk in the park today, Joseph,” Bane prompted and closed his book. “You may accompany me…if you behave.”

Johan’s brows perked up in surprise as he looked at Bane; the man’s eyes were crinkling with that same fond regard. Bane’s suggestion was a surprise indeed. He had not offered anything like this for the past four weeks. It was incredibly stifling inside; the only diversions the boy had to occupy himself were to read, exercise, and watch Bruce on the tablet. After the first month of Johan requesting to see Bruce each day, Bane had eventually given him the tablet for his own. The device had been wiped of any other software except for the video feed. That meant Johan was not able to use it for other means of communication with the outside world. But even if Johan could get in touch with someone, he couldn’t think of anyone. He wasn’t even sure if Lucius, Alfred, and Commissioner Gordon were alive…

But those thoughts were temporarily pushed from the forefront of his mind. This new opportunity to get out and walk in some fresh air was too much for the boy to resist. He’d do almost anything to leave the suite.

“I’ll behave,” he said quickly and sat up eagerly. “When can we leave?”

Bane chuckled softly. “Whenever you wish. I have no pressing matters today.”

“Five minutes then,” the boy answered and went over to sit side of the bed, reaching down to pull on his boots.

The January weather was frigid so he wanted to grab the coat Bane had given him down in the sewers. Normally the nanomachines would protect him from the cold but lately he was starting to feel intolerance to the weather.

 _It’s because the damn nanos are acting up_ , Johan thought with frustration.

He hadn’t needed the coat until now so it was pushed to the pack of the closet and Johan reached his entire arm in to yank it out. Bane was relaxing lazily on the bed and his eyes followed the boy as he pushed each arm through the sleeves. Johan had given the man a blowjob about an hour ago and Bane had been lounging on the bed ever since.

 _Guess I put him into a good mood with my talents_ , Johan thought wryly as he finished dressing.

Bane saw that Johan was ready and pulled on his own cowhide coat. He walked to the room’s entrance and rapped twice on the door. There was a short delay and Johan heard the outside lock slip open; the doorknob twisted and Barsad’s face peeked between the open crack. Bane spoke a few hushed words to Barsad and the smaller man’s drowsy eyes darted to Johan before his head nodded gently.

The door opened wider and Bane stepped through before turning back.

“Stay within three paces of me at all times. If you obey me our little stroll will go smoothly.”

“I’ll stay close,” Johan said.

“Good.”

Bane made his way to the private elevator and Johan followed. Barsad was apparently coming too because he entered the lift right behind the boy, his assault rifle in tow. They were on the fifty-second floor and Bane pressed the touch panel; the elevator smoothly descended to the lobby. Johan was standing next to Bane as the elevator rolled down to its destination. The man leaned close to glide a finger over the curve of Johan’s ear. Bane bent his head low to speak.

“I am being generous by taking you with me,” he growled deeply, loud enough for Barsad to hear “I expect some… _gratefulness_ upon our return.”

Johan’s gaze met Bane’s hungry eyes and he felt his cheeks flush. “I’ll make it worth your time, Bane.”

The man gave a pleasurable grunt and moved away. A _ding_ rung out and the doors slid apart. Bane briskly paced forward and Johan stayed close behind. The lobby was filled with League members moving boxes from cargo trucks on the street and into the other elevators. Johan guessed that one of the upper floors of the hotel was being used as Bane’s new HQ. They continued on and through the automated lobby doors, the frigid wind biting at Johan’s face as they emerged from the hotel.

 _I don’t care how cold it is_ , he thought happily as he looked around. _At least I’m outside._

The area surrounding the radius of the hotel was completely devoid of people. As far as Johan could tell the entire city was staying indoors. Bane and the League had rigged generators to a few floors of the hotel that allowed them to have electricity; Johan assumed anyone else in the city without such means was left in the cold darkness. The thunderous explosions Johan had heard in the sewer that lonely afternoon were charges planted in subterranean tunnels being triggered; the League had placed the bombs in specific pressure points to trap the majority of the GCPD underground. Other explosions had damaged buried power lines, leaving the city with irregular bouts of electricity. Johan assumed that the citizens of Gotham were using fire to burn available material for heat since gas was almost impossible to come by. With the winter being so cold people couldn’t afford to be exposed outside. And no one wanted to run into the League out on the streets either; Johan could often here the clatter of gunfire in the city while he was out on the balcony some nights. The chance of being shot at was high if you were caught on the streets after Bane's curfew.

The small group of three crossed the street into the park. The grounds were huge and stretched about twenty street blocks to both the east and west. There was a path with benches and lampposts bordering the sides that Bane steered them towards. Johan breathed in deeply and craned his head back and forth. The trees around them were bare and the boy could see birds sitting on branches, their little feathers puffed out for warmth. The park was silent except for the sound of birds chirping and the occasional rustle of grass as squirrels darted around nearby. Johan couldn’t help the huge smile on his face; he was overjoyed to be outside. He drew in a deep breath and blew it out forcefully, his warm air floating as a white puff in front of his face.

He and Bane walked quietly for a few minutes, neither speaking as Barsad trailed behind about ten paces. Their boots clunked softy as they walked.

“Your Batman is improving,” Bane stated abruptly. His head wasn’t facing Johan but the boy looked over. He hadn’t noticed before but the cloud of breath in front of Bane’s mask was wider and more dispersed; the mask must have spread out the man’s breath through the various vent openings.

“He is,” Johan said cautiously. “He can walk now.”

“I saw.”

They continued their stroll as they chatted.

“Aren’t you worried he’ll escape?” the boy asked.

“That is impossible,” Bane said and looked at Johan. “No man can leave that place. At least not while living.”

“He could prove you wrong,” Johan told him.

Bane laughed, a larger waft of air leaving his mask. “You admire him, Joseph.”

“I do,” Johan said. “He’s a good man.”

“If that is what you think,” Bane remarked. He was still looking at the boy. “Tell me something, Joseph. Was he gentle?”

Johan imperceptibly stilled his step before quickly continuing the pace, turning his face away from the man and choosing to fix his stare on a bench.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Johan said.

“Did Mr. Wayne _take_ you as I do?” Bane asked. The boy could tell by the man’s voice that he was interested.

“No,” Johan replied, “he didn’t.”

“Ah, I assumed so,” Bane asserted wistfully. “I could tell on our first night together that the Batman was… _delicate_ with you.”

The boy’s face reddened. “He wasn’t _delicate_ , Bane. You’re just more rough than you need to be.”

The man hummed. “I do not see the reason in sacrificing my pleasure.”

He placed a meaty hand on Johan’s shoulder and stopped the boy. Johan looked up into the man’s eyes. They were kind but had a gleam of possessiveness.

“I will take you how I wish,” he informed the boy for the second time since their arrangement began.

Johan placed a hand on the man’s large bicep. “Bane,” he started slowly, “I understand. If we were under different circumstances though…” he paused to sift through what he wanted to say, “if things were different, and I didn’t have to do what you want, I wouldn’t agree to everything.”

Bane’s brow furrowed. “Such as what?”

Johan wondered if he should even say anything; this conversation didn’t matter in the slightest anyway. Anything he told Bane would be disregarded. The man wasn’t keeping him to make sure that the boy was enjoying himself. Johan was being kept alive for Bane’s enjoyment and that was it; he was under no illusion that he meant anything to the man.

The boy sighed. “Sex multiple times a day is painful.”

“You refer to me claiming you?”

“Yes, _claiming_ me hurts.”

“You bleed some,” Bane said bluntly. “But it is not much. I have done worse to others.”

 _Wow_ , Johan thought, _so I guess I’m privileged now?_

“Doesn’t mean I enjoy it,” Johan replied dully.

“That does not matter to me.”

Johan audibly huffed. “I know you don’t care, Bane. I only told you because you asked.”

The man inclined his head and continued walking. “Did you find enjoyment with your beloved Batman?”

Johan wanted to scream his lungs out at the awkwardness of this conversation. He did not want to discuss he and Bruce’s sex life with the man who was essentially raping him each morning, night, and, if Bane was there, afternoon. The boy rolled his eyes.

 _I should have seen this coming_ , Johan thought. _Strolls in the park with aspiring mass murders are destined for uncomfortable chats._

“Bruce made sure I got off each time we slept together,” Johan admitted not too loudly. He didn’t want Barsad to hear every part of this exchange.

“Did you make yourself climax?” Bane asked, his eyes shining with curiosity.

“Sometimes yes,” the boy said, “but most of the time he made me come.”

“With his hands?”

“Yeah, or with his…” Johan teetered off while he stared at the mask. “Mouth.”

“And yet,” Bane purred and stroked Johan’s cheek while they paced, “you do not use your hand for your own pleasure.”

“So?” Johan said in a firm tone.

The boy felt one hand grab his arm while the other turned him to face the man. They were standing in the middle of the path; it was becoming dark and Johan wondered if the lampposts would be lit by now had the bombs not destroyed some of the power lines. Bane was exploring the boy’s face intently. Johan didn’t meet his eyes, instead opting to stare at the pavement at his feet.

“You do not need to punish yourself for our arrangement, Joseph,” he said in a soothing tone.

“I’m not.”

“But you are,” Bane cooed and brushed some strands of hair out of Johan’s eyes. “You do not want to find pleasure from our bouts of passion. To do so would make our agreement less…how should I put it? Oh yes, _honorable_ on your part.”

 _Why does he even care what I think?_ Johan asked inwardly. _I don’t understand him, even after these past months._

Johan didn’t reply and stared downward; Bane continued to run his fingers through the boy’s hair.

“Mr. Wayne would not begrudge you finding some solace in his absence,” Bane said softly. “You are the reason his broken body is spared.”

“I wouldn’t feel ashamed to get off with you, Bane,” Johan said to the pavement. He looked up into the gray eyes. “You just make it difficult for me."

Bane smoothed his thumb over Johan’s thick eyebrow and laughed affectionately.

“My desert flower,” he declared while he looked at the darkening sky. “Your life is brief. I suggest you find enjoyment with me while you can.”

“Says the man who takes pleasure and gives none,” Johan spoke coldly.

“Is that so?” Bane inquired as he stared down at Johan, gray eyes glittering.

“I’ve never slept with someone so selfish in bed,” the boy stated.

“My dear Joseph,” the man rasped in a soft murmur. “You have not proven yourself deserving of receiving satisfaction from my hands.”

“Huh,” Johan huffed. “Guess you never have any real relationships. All of your trysts must be one-night stands. No one would come back to you with that attitude.”

The hand carding through the boy’s hair tightened and pushed Johan’s head closer to Bane’s face. Johan felt the warm air being exhaled through the ducts in the mask. The boy could see in the man’s eyes that Bane was angry.

 _Whoops_ , he realized. _Just can’t close your big mouth, Johan_.

“It is time for us to return home,” Bane announced slowly after clenching his fist a bit more, making Johan wince as some hairs were plucked out.

The man drew back his hand, but not before patting his fingers delicately over the tussled patch of hair. Johan nodded in return and began to walk in Barsad’s direction back along the path.

That was when he saw movement.

A bush rustled, too much to be caused by a bird or squirrel. Johan saw a tuft of hair rise above the top of the bush for half a second before lowering into cover once more. The boy was the only one of the three facing the opposite direction of the path towards the bush; Barsad was standing facing Johan and Bane hadn’t yet pivoted around. The boy was the only one able to see.

And Johan was also the only one who noticed the muzzle of a handgun quickly peek over the bush. It was aimed at Barsad.

 _Shit_ , John thought.

He jumped into action.

Without any noise of warning, Johan sprung into a run. Barsad had managed to raise his rifle halfway when he saw the boy coming at him, but Johan was too quick. He tackled the side of the man just as a shot rang out from the bush. A hot pain burned in Johan’s upper arm and he fell on top of Barsad, the man emitting an ‘ _oomph’_ as he struck the pavement. Johan heard another gunshot crack in the air and kept both he and Barsad’s heads down. The boy looked towards Bane to see him returning to a relaxed position from a shooting stance, the M &P in his grip; he was staring at something by the bush.

“Off,” Barsad ordered quietly and he pushed on Johan’s chest.

Johan rolled over and sat up; his left bicep was stinging and he held pressure with his right hand. No nicked artery but it was still bleeding a lot. Barsad stood up and stared down at the boy with his drowsy eyes. Johan met the gaze until Barsad began to stride to the bush, Bane already on the move there. The boy avoided putting weight on his arms and used his legs to stand; he made his way to the two men. They were in congress together, talking quietly over a form on the ground. Johan was still clutching his left arm as he stood to Bane’s side and inspected the scene on the grass.

It was a kid, maybe fifteen or sixteen. He was wearing tattered jeans and a thin jacket. Bane’s bullet had entered the back of his skull and exited from the boy’s left eye, blowing off a large portion of his cheek and forehead with it. The kid must have been running away when Bane shot him. A disregarded Glock 19 lay on the grass a few feet away from the body.

 _The kid violated curfew_ , Johan thought sadly. _And he ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I guess he was trying to be a hero…_

Large hands started to brush through Johan’s hair.

“You were saved by my flower, Barsad,” Bane said happily as he looked down at the corpse of the young kid. "How is your arm?"

Johan made a noncommittal noise. "I'll live."

Barsad grunted in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything.

 _I saved Barsad_ , Johan realized. _I pushed him out of the way…I didn’t even think about it…_

Johan stared down at the bloody grass where pieces of skull and brain matter were strewn about. It was as if the chunks of body matter were rubbish that had never been part of a living person.

 _An innocent kid was murdered,_ Johan thought in frustration. _And I saved the right hand man to a mass-murdering terrorist._

“You are upset, Joseph,” Bane soothed when he saw Johan’s expression. “Do not be. This child was foolish. He disobeyed our curfew orders and deserved to be punished.”

“Punishment by death?” Johan asked bitterly. “He was just a kid…”

“Man or child, it does not matter. He tried to assassinate me. The boy shot at Barsad first because he was visibly armed,” Bane said as he placed the M&P into the holster hidden by his long coat. “That was an error which proved to be fatal.”

“He was doing what he thought was right,” Johan stated as he heatedly turned to Bane. “He tried to save the city by killing you. You shouldn’t look down on him for doing that.”

Bane nodded. “A noble effort, but one that was misguided. The child has merely met his fate early. The rest of this city will soon follow.”

The large man began to walk back towards the path to the hotel. Barsad was waiting for Johan to start walking, his drowsy eyes more alert and searching the surrounding park. This unexpected incident seemed to be isolated but Barsad was being more careful nonetheless. Johan let out a breath and quickly caught up to Bane, making sure to be within three paces of the man. His arm was burning and the blood was soaking through his thick coat.

 _I have to take out the round lodged in my muscle_ , Johan planned.

Twenty minutes later they were back in the suite. Bane was out in the hallway speaking with Barsad as the boy was carefully peeling his coat off. He removed the right arm with no difficulty but his left arm throbbed each time the fabric shifted over the tender wound. Thankfully the nanomachines had stopped the bleeding but it was going to be a difficult getting the bullet out; his hands were still shaking badly.

Johan went into the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet below the sink. He sat down on the reading ledge by the window, opening it to search for tools. Johan pulled out some alcohol wipes and a pair of metal tweezers. Slowly he ripped the packaging of the wipes with his trembling hands and bit back a hiss as he cleaned the wound; it burned a lot. With that done he picked up the tweezers. He moved his hand to the opening in his skin but sighed in frustration as he lost his grip, the tool dropping onto the plush window bench.

“Allow me, Joseph,” Bane said from close by. The man had removed his coat and was walking to the window. “Hold out your arm.”

“It’s okay, Bane, I can do it,” Johan replied. The boy wasn’t in the mood to have the man helping him, not after what had happened in the park.

“You will do as I say,” the man growled and grasped Johan’s smaller arm firmly in one hand, sitting down on the window nook next to him.

Bane picked up the fallen tweezers and approached the hole the bullet had created when it entered. With the deftness of a practiced medical man, Bane smoothly inserted the tool, holding Johan’s arm tighter as the boy couldn’t help squirming from the pain of metal digging inside his muscle. The man quickly located the bullet and extracted it out; the metal round was smeared red. Bane wiped the round on his pants and dropped it into one of his cargo pockets.

“The wound will heal with a scar,” Bane informed the boy as his eyes ghosted over Johan’s face. “However, I somehow doubt my assessment. You recovered from my chastisement in the sewers without any signs.”

 _He’s referring to when he beat the shit out of me after I ran out of our room_ , Johan thought coldly. _But_ _Bane’s never mentioned it before, how I healed so fast. I don’t want him to know about the nanomachines…_

“I bounce back quickly,” Johan murmured. He wanted to avoid the masked man’s scrutiny. The boy grabbed a pre-soaked iodine swab to clean the wound, readying to tear the packaging.

“Your mending ability is not natural,” Bane rasped curiously, stilling Johan’s movements.

“Either is your mask.”

The gray eyes crinkled. “How is it that one so small as you has the strength of a man three times his size?”

“I don’t know,” the boy said with a narrowed gaze. “How is it possible for you to walk, let alone fight, with that scar on your back?”

Bane’s face darkened a moment before he chuckled deeply.

“I must learn to stop prodding you, Joseph,” Bane said with sparkling eyes, “You always respond with bite.”

“Personal information isn’t needed for our arrangement.”

“That is true,” the man replied. “But I will tell you what _is_ needed.”

Johan didn’t understand. “Um, what?”

Bane’s pupils were dilated as he leaned in close. “A reward. For protecting Barsad.”

“Ah,” Johan spoke as his face flushed. The smell of Bane’s sweat and musk was strong this close. “It’s fine, Bane, don’t worry about it.”

A large thumb traced Johan’s lips and Bane put his mask in the curve of Johan’s neck. Johan heard him inhale deeply, like he was trying to breath in Johan’s scent.

 _Can he even smell through the mask?_ Johan wondered.

“You are tense, Joseph,” Bane said softly as a hand reached for the boy’s chest and began rubbing a nipple.

Johan startled backwards but the man held him in place, moving to give attention to the other nipple. The friction was tantalizing and Johan felt his length perking up in interest. This was the first time Bane had felt his body this way since their initial night together in the sewer two months ago. The boy clenched his eyes shut and focused on the sensations. One hand was massaging his pectorals while the other had moved from his lips to his inner thigh, kneading into the sensitive areas.

 _Feels so good_ , he thought. He let out a moan and heard Bane laugh quietly.

The boy hadn’t had an orgasm once since sleeping with Bane. Johan looked like a seventeen year old, but his sex drive was the opposite of a teenager. The nanomachines coursing through his blood functioned to suppress his libido; Dr. Saunders referred to it as an “unpleasant” side effect. The boy was able to orgasm but it was harder to accomplish than in most people. However, contrary to all of this, he was still human. It had been so long since he had found release that Bane wouldn’t have to do much now to make him come.

A large hand cupped the growing bulge beneath his pants and provided delightful friction that made Johan arch up and grasp Bane’s torso with his hands; his left arm ached but he couldn’t be bothered to mind it.

“Bane,” Johan sighed weakly, resting his forehead on the man’s broad chest.

“You are beautiful like this, my flower,” Bane wheezed. A hand moved in front of Johan’s mouth. “Spit,” the man ordered. Johan did.

Bane undid the button of Johan’s pants, reaching underneath the elastic waist of his boxers and coaxing out the hardened member. Johan hummed in pleasure as the rough calluses of the large hand began to firmly stroke him, starting down at the base and twisting as it went up the shaft. The saliva added just enough slickness and the pleasure was wonderful. Johan’s lustful gaze looked up to Bane’s face; the man was watching him intently with a doting expression.

“Why are you doing this?” Johan inquired through heavy breaths. “You said I wasn’t _'_ _deserving'_.”

The man grunted and started pumping in earnest. Johan gasped in delight and clutched on to Bane harder. The man was breathing heavily too and the boy could see Bane’s large endowments pressing against the fabric of his pants.

“With your actions today,” he wheezed thickly, “you have proven me wrong.”

 _Lucky me_ , Johan thought before his mind was clouded with an intense pleasure as Bane managed to move his hand even faster. It was bliss.

Johan didn’t last long and soon let out a loud moan, his semen spurting out. Bane put his large hand out and caught most of it in his palm while the escaping drops landed on the man’s pants and vest. The boy was panting while still holding onto Bane’s broad chest; he felt satisfied and sublimely relaxed. The man tucked Johan’s length back in his pants and pushed the boy slightly away with his clean hand; he held the soiled palm up to Johan’s face.

Bane’s eyes were hungry as he spoke. “Clean it, Joseph.”

The boy saw the hand and stared. What Bane was asking seemed more...intimate than getting fucked or stroked by the man. The gray eyes were waiting expectantly.

 _Here it goes_ , the boy thought.

He hesitated a moment before reaching up to grab Bane’s wrist and lower it down. He ran his tongue along the palm to lap up his own seed. Bane hummed in contentment as Johan licked up the last drop.

“You are mine, Joseph,” Bane rumbled and left the window bench to sit on the edge of the bed. His pupils were blown wide and the tenting in his pants was larger. “Now you must repay me for letting you out today.”

Bane stripped off his pants and Johan sat up to walk to the bed. He went down on his knees before Bane. His small hands pulled the man’s boxers down, the huge member springing forth; Johan started to stroke it lightly.

 _I need to do something new_ , Johan realized. _Can’t disappoint him, after all_.

Johan licked two of his fingers before lowering his head to lick Bane’s length from the base to the tip, swirling his tongue around the head. The boy took the member in his mouth and started bobbing his head up and down on the top half of Bane’s penis while his left hand stroked the remaining half firmly; his arm still hurt but at this point the nanomachines helped to lessen the pain. Bane growled and placed one hand on the back of the boy’s head. To Johan’s relief he didn’t force the boy downward.

Using the wet fingers of his other hand, Johan carefully stretched his right arm out and nudged at the tight ring of muscle around Bane’s opening. The man’s grip in his hair tightened before he opened his legs a little wider.

 _That’s a ‘yes’_ , Johan thought.

The boy eased one finger in and curled it in just the right spot over the bundled nerves of Bane’s prostate. Johan pressed his finger down while continuing his attentions on Bane’s member; the man jutted his hip forward, temporarily gagging Johan at the sudden push deep into his throat. The boy took his mouth off the length as he sputtered and coughed, but still he kept massaging the fingers inside of Bane. The man gave him a few moments to recover before forcing Johan’s head down on his length again. Johan began sucking in earnest this time, taking the penis further into this throat while he stroked firmer and faster on the bottom of the length. Bane let out a loud satisfied moan and Johan continued to massage the man’s prostate.

Some time later Johan felt Bane spasm while semen filled the boy’s mouth. Johan swallowed it down as he removed his fingers from the man’s opening. The boy continued to milk the man’s member of the emptying seed. Bane was panting from the orgasm and he bent over, resting the mask on Johan’s head; the breath from his mask ruffled the boy’s chestnut hair. After a few moments the man at up and cupped Johan’s chin, brushing the thumb along the thin lips. His eyes were overflowing with affection.

That’s when it clicked: the thick fingers, always ghosting over the boy’s mouth when Bane was pleased with him.

 _I think it’s a kiss_ , Johan discovered. _Since he has to wear the mask, this is how he does it_.

Johan’s mind was buzzing with conflicting emotions. Bane had been harsh in his treatment at times. The man was simply using Johan’s body for his own gratification. But aside from fulfilling his own sexual needs, Bane was usually civil in conversations with the boy. He actually listened to Johan’s opinions, even if the man didn’t plan on changing his own beliefs. The mercenary had never been sadistic; even that night he had beaten Johan it had been a punishment for leaving the room, not a senseless thrashing.

 _And then now_ , Johan wondered. _He got me off because I risked my life for Barsad. Was that a one-time thing? He was gentle with me and then let me get him off with my mouth and fingers. Bane almost always preferred to fuck me…_

Even after everything Bane had done – the beating, forcing Johan to endure their brutal couplings – Johan felt inexplicably grateful in that moment. Bane was still rubbing his thumb along Johan’s lips, his eyes crinkled.

Without pause Johan moved up and pressed a kiss under Bane’s eye, on the part of his cheek not covered by the mask. Bane instantly stiffened; he placed a cautionary hand on Johan’s neck, pushing the boy away. Johan saw the man’s eyes - they were puzzled. The boy stepped back as Bane sat up to put on his pants. Bane went to the door and knocked twice, waiting until Barsad opened it.

 _I thought Bane said he was free today_ , Johan mused.

“Where are you going?” he asked as Bane walked through.

“I have a matter to attend to,” Bane said quickly and stepped down the hallway out of sight.

Barsad closed the door and Johan heard the outer lock snap in place; he was alone.

 _That was weird_ , Johan thought. _Did I do something wrong?_

Johan stood still for a moment before heading to the bathroom. The bullet wound still had to be cleaned and bandaged so the boy snatched the first aid kit off the window bench and closed the bathroom door after snapping on the light.

Bane came back to the room several hours later when Johan was already in bed. The rumpling of clothing meant that Bane was changing and the sheets on the opposite side were pushed back. The man slipped under the sheets; he said nothing to Johan and didn’t make any indication he wanted to have sex again. The boy’s back was to the man and before long he heard the slow wheezes through the mask as Bane fell asleep.

 _I guess I did upset him_ , Johan figured.

Johan sighed deeply next to the mercenary. Soon the phantom sensation of fingers tingled on his lips as he drifted off to sleep. He dreamed.

_“I didn’t expect you to find me,” Dr. Saunders said as she readied the injection. She popped off the cap and pushed out the excess air using the plunger. “I’m glad you did.”_

_“You aren’t hard to find, Marie. The equipment for your private lab is easy to trace.”_

_Johan was sitting on an examination table. His shirt was off and arm held at the ready; his entire upper body was shaking and Dr. Saunders had to hold it still to inject the serum. The needle smoothly entered his skin as the doctor pushed down the plunger. She carefully pulled out the needle when done and lightly placed the arm back at Johan’s side._

_“Lie down, Shadow,” she instructed. “The effect should take place within two minutes.”_

_The boy nodded and laid his trembling form flat with his back against the table. Both he and Dr. Saunders were situated in the private lab below her house in South Kensington. It was a large area stocked with expensive machinery and supplies used for her genetic research. Dr. Saunders was not affiliated with any university research team; instead, private corporations funded her work with nanomachines. The massive amount of groundwork she had made was lost after Johan’s nanomachine incident; her entire body of research had been pushed back several years after the boy had destroyed the facility’s data computers in his rampage._

_“You came to me just in time,” Dr. Saunders informed him. “I don’t have enough data to know what would happen after prolonged erratic behavior from the nanomachines.”_

_“Guess I like living on the edge,” Johan commented sarcastically._

_Johan could already feel his shaking lessening from the serum; he bent his elbow up and saw his fingers were almost completely steady._

_“Shadow…” Dr. Saunders said hesitantly. She was sitting on a stool by the table, staring at her lap. “About last year. Your experiment…”_

_The boy watched her closely and stayed silent._

_“I’m sorry,” she told him just above a whisper. “I was forced to…but that’s no excuse for what I did to you.”_

_Johan nodded. “It’s okay, Marie.”_

_She tilted her head and grabbed a paper chart, jotting down some notes._

_The corporation that had been conducting the nanomachine experiments blackmailed Dr. Saunders into working for them. She had gained worldwide renown for her breakthroughs in the applications of machines the size of a nanometer, called nanorobotics. Discoveries in the field of these molecular machines had historically been used for the sole purpose of combating toxic elements in the blood without the use of harmful cytotoxic compounds. Dr. Saunders used her expertise in gene therapy and nanorobotics to form a hybrid scientific field: nanomachine technology. She constructed microscopic machines that functioned within the biologic makeup of the human body, enhancing certain qualities like agility, strength, and healing._

_Her work caught attention throughout the world, especially from private military corporations, such as the organization Johan belonged to. They acquired her through extralegal means and forced her to complete human experimentations; if she refused, her own family would be killed. Johan was still resentful for what had happened, but he could understand going against beliefs to save the ones you cared about._

_One minute later the residual quivering stopped. Johan sat up to move his legs smoothly back and forth. He pushed his legs up from the table at a 90-degree angle: they were completely steady._

_“Perfect,” Johan said as he got up off the table, swinging his arms to and fro. No trembling was present. He turned to the doctor. “Thanks a lot, Marie.”_

_Johan stood up to pull on a t-shirt before grabbing his hoodie off a nearby chair. Marie was flipping through her paper chart._

_“According to when the nanomachine malfunctions began,” she said while writing down a note, “you’ll need to see me again this time next year. I project that the serum will only stabilize the micromachines for about twelve months. I don’t have the resources right now to give you extra serum. You need to come to me right away for another dose if the shaking starts sooner.”_

_“I will, Marie,” Johan assured her and glanced at his watch. “My plane is leaving soon. I need to get going.”_

_“Shadow,” she began slowly. She didn’t meet his eyes. “The day of the experiment…you didn’t kill me.”_

_“I know.”_

_“But the other organization members…you killed them.”_

_Johan continued to stare down at Dr. Saunders. “I didn’t mean to, Marie.”_

_The woman drew in a sharp breath._

_Johan was concerned._ _“Are you afraid of me for what I did?”_

_“No, not at all. Those awful people deserved it!” Marie said vehemently, shaking her head at the ground. “And I know you couldn’t help it. The nanomachines took over you - I could see it in your eyes. They were the Devil’s Eyes.”_

_“My eyes?” Johan’s brow was furrowed. “What’re you talking about?”_

_“Your eyes were silver. In states of extreme duress, the nanomachines will exert control over the host’s body. The result is enhanced strength and speed beyond that of what the nanorobotics already supplement. You lose your will, but you gain unmeasured ability.”_

_Johan scratched the back of his head. “Okay, I got that. But what does that have to do with my eyes?”_

_“In their hyper state, the nanomachines congregate over the irises for reasons I don’t know. By doing so they block out the natural pigmentation of the host. It makes your eyes look silver, Johan. It’s…unsettling to say the least.”_

_“Huh. Well that’s interesting. But you’re wrong about one thing, Marie.”_

_The boy’s golden eyes studied her hunched-over form in the chair. Her fingers were nervously picking at the corner of a sheet of paper on her lap. He remembered that day; the nanomachines had caused him to black out. Johan had eventually regained control to see the blood of people he had slaughtered covering his hands and face, with no idea how it had gotten there. He had been about to snap Marie’s neck when the nanomachines had lost their grip on his mind; his subconscious wouldn’t let the nanomachines do it._

_“Even when I lose control,” Johan stated, “the nanomachines can’t make me kill someone kind.”_

_Marie finally met his gaze; her eyes were brimming with soon-to-be tears. She sniffled and wiped the back of her hand against her nose._

_“You’re a rare kid,” she told him, the tears now falling down her face, “I’ve put those machines inside your body and cut your life short. But still you call me 'kind'? I can’t wrap my head around it.”_

_She began shaking and covered her face with her hands, weeping into her palms._

_“Don’t feel guilty, Marie,” Johan said soothingly and put a hand on her shuddering arm. “You’ve given me the ability to help others in a way no one else can. I’ll use what you’ve done for good, for as long as I live.”_

_“As long as you live…” she said and used a sleeve to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. “No other subject lasted longer than a year. I don’t know how much time you have…”_

_“I’m stubborn,” Johan said with forced cheer. “I’ll try by best to be in your hair as long as possible.”_

_Marie laughed sadly and clutched Johan’s hand on her arm with a firm pressure._

_“Tell me you’ll stay alive,” she told him and tightened her grip. “Undo the wrong those bastards did to you. Help as many people as you can."_

_Johan put his other hand over her grasp. “I promise.”_


	8. Chapter 8

_7 months earlier, January continued_

The boy awoke to the sound of the hotel door being unlocked. Bane sat up quickly next to him; the man appeared startled by the intrusion.

_Must be an unexpected visitor_ , Johan mused.

The night outside was black and Johan glanced to the bedside clock - it was half past three in the morning. Bane had just gotten back an hour ago from abruptly leaving Johan alone in the room after their walk in the park. Johan shielded his eyes as the overhead light was flicked on. The person he saw when his vision adjusted was surprising.

A pretty woman was standing in the doorway to the master bedroom. In fact, it was a _very_ pretty woman. She had long brunette hair with bright green eyes. Her features were soft and she held herself with an aristocratic air. The woman had an ample chest with sensual hips, giving her an hourglass figure. Bane was standing at attention by the foot of the bed, only dressed in his pants; Johan was still in the bed and wearing a t-shirt with boxers.

“I expected a warmer welcome, my dear,” she said softly and stepped lightly over to Bane. “You do not seem pleased to see me.”

Her accent sounded unique to Johan, like a mixture between French and Middle Eastern. The woman caressed the side of Bane’s face and sighed in a sultry manner. She pressed her body up against Bane and smoothed her pale hand over his chest; he grabbed her hand in his and rubbed it soothingly.

“Forgive me, beloved, I have been uneasy tonight,” he rumbled in a meek timbre that Johan had never heard.

“You are forgiven,” she cooed before she fixed her stare to Johan; he was still sitting in bed against the headboard. Her gaze was icy and clinical. “I thought you would rest well with someone to warm your bed. Am I wrong to think so?”

Bane pushed her long hair back with his hands and shook his head. “His body pleases me. My restlessness comes from being anxious to see you, beloved. I worry about you constantly.”

“How sweet of you, darling,” she purred. “You deserve a _reward_ for your thoughtfulness.”

The woman smiled widely and dipped her hands below Bane’s waistband; Johan heard the man grunt quietly. She moved her arm up and down quickly and Bane started breathing heavily.

_Who the hell is this lady?_ Johan asked as he watched the woman jerk Bane off. She was the first woman he had seen during his stay with the League - all of the members were men. He had never seen any of the men bring women into the building. If they did then Johan didn’t now about it.

_She looks familiar…_ Johan noticed inwardly. _Where have I seen her?_

She continued pumping a few more moments until she suddenly stopped and removed her hand; Bane hadn’t come yet and his member was still rock hard beneath his pants. She patted the side of the large man’s face.

“I will let you finish soon,” she told the man and turned to Johan. “But first I want to meet your _pet_. Get out of the bed, boy.”

Johan did as instructed and stood with his bare feet on the carpet in front of the bedside table. The boy looked at the woman as she prowled closer like a tiger. Her eyes seemed even brighter now and had a mischievous shimmer. She studied him up and down.

“You are quite good looking,” she stated after appraising him. “I see why Bruce made you his partner, dear Shadow.” The woman focused her eyes. “He has good taste in who he allows in his bed.”

Johan’s face remained calm. “Thanks, but I don’t know enough of his other partners to flatter myself.”

“Then take a look,” she said with a fierce grin. The boy stared before a moment before the woman's words clicked in his mind.

_Did_  s _he slept with Bruce?_ Johan thought with surprise. _Who the hell is she?_

He felt his hands curl into fists. “You knew Bruce? How?”

“Oh, I indeed _knew_ him. In the indelicate sense.”

“Who are you?” Johan demanded. “Are you working for Bane?”

Her eyes shined and she bent her head back in cackling laughter. The sound was disturbing and sent shivers down Johan’s spine.

“My poor boy, you know nothing?” she asked mockingly and turned to Bane. “You really have kept him in the dark, my dear.”

Bane nodded minutely. The woman stepped closer and put her face an inch away from Johan.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” she explained and trailed a long nail down the side of Johan’s face. “But I will because you are positively pathetic. Your ignorance disgusts me.”

Johan’s eyes hardened at the insult but the woman looked delighted from his anger. With no hesitation she swiftly backhanded Johan, slicing his lip with her sharp nail; he saw it coming but made no move to avoid it. Blood trickled down his chin as he kept his glare resolutely fixed on her. Bane was watching the proceedings silently, his eyes moving back and forth between them.

“You are a half-wit to think I am below _him_ ,” she spat furiously in his face, gesturing to Bane. “ _I_ am the reason Gotham will be vanish in a mighty fire.”

“This is Bane’s plan,” Johan pointed out. “He told me it was.”

The woman smirked. “The League of Shadows is skilled in theatricality and deception. We rely on misdirection to carryout our goals.”

She leaned forward and licked the curve of Johan’s ear before whispering, “I am the true predecessor of Ra’s al Ghul.”

_She’s the real leader behind this operation_ , Johan realized in shock. _I had a gut feeling this wasn’t Bane’s show, but I didn’t know a woman could lead the League._ _  
_

The boy spoke to Bane. "I was right. Destroying Gotham isn't _your_ idea. I knew-,"

He received another slap from the woman before he could finish. "Do not speak to him as if you are equals. You are but a dog and he is your master."

_As far as I know a dog can't suck a dick,_ Johan thought. The boy turned to the woman.

“How do you plan to ‘vanish’ Gotham exactly?” he asked. “No amount of regular explosives would do it. You’d need something a lot bigger.”

She took a finger and trailed it in the dribble of blood on his chin. Johan fought the urge to spit in her face.

“That is the poetry of my plan,” she murmured. “I helped Bruce spend his fortune to save Gotham. Now the city will be destroyed on account of his misplaced ideals.”

"'Spend his fortune'? On what?"

She smiled. "It was in the papers. He acted so pitiful when the project didn't go his way."

Johan's thoughts raced. _I remember reading about Wayne Enterprises pairing with some philanthropist for a project. But Bruce ended up sinking all his money into it because it never panned out. What was it? A military project? No, it was something to do with the government, the EPA I think. Something about alternative fuel..._

His eyes widened in recognition. _Now I remember - the fusion reactor!_

When Bruce decided he would no longer be Batman, he poured his effort into finding innovative ways to benefit the city. His reactor project would have provided clean energy to Gotham at a fraction of the price, with practically no harmful environmental waste that results from traditional energy consumption. A European company that had already made some headway with the reactor technology provided Wayne Enterprises both monetary and research backing. The owner of said company was a woman named Miranda Tate.

A Miranda Tate who was now standing in their hotel room. A Miranda Tate who was apparently the head of the League of Shadows.

_Shit_ , Johan cursed inwardly. _From what I've read in the past the core of the reactor must be very unstable. If they’ve learned how to somehow arm it then they’d have an atom bomb. I even remember hearing about some physicist in Eastern Europe figuring out how to do it. Maybe the League figured it out, too._

By the smug look on Miranda's face that was exactly what they did.

_Shit._

_Holy shit._

Johan had to admit their plan was ingenious. Miranda tricked Bruce into building a potential bomb right beneath Gotham. She must have gained his trust before having Bane dispose of him, or at least, trying to have Bane dispose of Bruce. Johan had stopped that course of action. The boy had worked out earlier that this seemed to be some sort of revenge scheme by the League, to punish Bruce and Gotham for Ra’s death. The high and mighty ideals of fighting injustice that the League of Shadows touted didn’t seem to be the truth; someone must have a personal vendetta against the city to keep targeting it like this.

_And this must be Miranda’s grudge_ , Johan figured. _  
_

“When does the reactor go off, Ms. Tate?” the boy asked coolly.

Miranda’s eyes widened.

“Not so ignorant after all,” she said and popped a finger covered with Johan’s blood into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around her mouth before she slipped her wet finger out. “However, I will not tell you that.”

“Why Gotham?” he pressed. “Why does the League have to keep coming after this city again and again? Gotham has done nothing.”

“Ra’s al Ghul was defeated trying to purge this wretched place from the earth,” Miranda responded. “We are here to complete his work.”

Johan ground his teeth. “I can’t believe you’re going to murder millions of people just to complete an insane man’s plan.”

Miranda landed a sharp upper cut to Johan’s chin. His jaw snapped shut and his bottom teeth bit into his tongue. She delivered a front kick into his abdomen; he lurched backward and hit the bedside table behind him. The bedside clock and lamp crashed to the ground. Johan crouched down and blood started filling his mouth. He spit it out by his feet, watching it soak into the cream colored carpet.

The woman was heaving angrily and grabbed Johan by the neck to twist his face up. She was infuriated with widened eyes and flaring nostrils.

“You little _brat_!” she screeched as spittle landed on Johan’s eyes. “My father was not insane. The one’s who are truly insane are those like you and Batman who try to fight corruption while never truly knowing that you are adding to it. You wander like blind men in the desert who never realize that the oasis is within an arm’s reach.”

She released his head and kicked her leg forcefully against his temple. He flailed to the side and crashed to the floor while managing to catch his upper body with his hands so that his head stayed safe. His hands were trembling badly and he sat up so he could fold his arms against him to still the shaking. Miranda saw this and smiled cruelly.

_Ah, Ra’s was her father_ , the boy discovered.   _That explains a lot. Miranda’s just a spoiled little girl who wants Gotham and Bruce to pay_ _for her dad’s death_ _._

“Are you afraid, boy?” she scoffed and walked to him. She bent down low to speak in his face. “Bane told me you were a skilled fighter. I see now you a scared brat who only wants his Batman to come back home and _fuck_ him. You were nothing but Bruce’s little toy that he could screw into the mattress.”

Johan sighed inwardly. _I should probably keep my mouth shut..._

He chewed his bottom lip. _The hell with it, I can take whatever she throws at me_.

“I’m a brat, huh?” Johan said through his bloody teeth; he smiled. “I’m not the one who’s throwing a fit because my daddy got killed by a guy wearing a bat suit.”

Miranda literally howled in outrage and placed two more kicks to Johan’s side. The boy fell over with pain but he was still smiling. He turned his head to look up at Miranda’s scowl.

“Bruce may have fucked me from convenience,” Johan said slowly with a grin, “but he only fucked _you_ because you look like his dead ex-girlfriend.”

Johan had to keep himself from snickering at her incensed expression.

“Sorry,” he told her cheekily, “but the truth’s a bitch.”

The woman visibly tensed and her eyes became even icier. “Bane,” she said in a calm voice, “Hold him down on the bed.”

The boy ground his teeth. _Oh shit._

Johan swallowed as Bane wordlessly strode over. He put both of the boy’s arms in a lock behind his back and dragged him to the large bed.

“On his back, darling,” she ordered in a frigid tone. “Restrain his arms and legs.”

One large hand gripped the boy's wrists while the other steadied his feet. He saw Miranda take out a jagged dagger with an ornate handle from her belt. She held it in front of her eyes and looked at it lovingly.

“This was a gift from my father when I was still small. It is called a kris,” she told him. Miranda walked to other side of the bed and held it in front of Johan’s eyes. “I want you to be acquainted with its sting.”

She glanced at Bane. “Hold him tight, my dear.”

Johan struggled as Miranda slid the boxers down his hips to his knees. He tried to rock away but even with the nanomachines Bane’s strength was too much to overpower. The boy froze when he felt the cold tip of the dagger probe at his entrance. He clenched down as the top of the sharp blade entered about an inch inside his opening, easily cutting shallow incisions into the vulnerable muscle.

“Bane,” Johan pleaded in a shaky voice as he looked at the masked man. “You don’t have to do what she says.”

The gray eyes had no evident sympathy. They were blank.

“Foolish, boy,” Miranda chided, “Bane is _my_ protector, not yours.” She was continuing to rock the blade inside Johan’s opening.

“ _Bane_ ,” the boy implored.

“Enough!” Miranda exclaimed and moved the dagger with startling speed.

The boy snapped his head back as the blade tore a path through the muscle in his perineum, from his hole towards the scrotum. Johan could tell the cut was deep and he audibly yelled out at the agony. He could feel a copious amount of blood spilling onto his surrounding skin and the bed sheets. Miranda ripped the boxers completely off his legs and pain flared up with each jerk of his body. Johan was panting now and sweat covered his forehead.

“Take him,” she told Bane, pointing to the boy's bleeding opening.

_Please, no_ , Johan thought with exhaustion in his mind. _Bane, please don’t_.

He watched Bane staring at Miranda; the masked man didn’t move. The woman pursed her lips in impatience.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked stiffly.

“It would not be honorable to claim him while he is so badly injured,” Bane replied calmly, his eyes still unreadable.

Miranda’s nostrils flared and she held up the knife in warning.

“I am your master and you are my protector. Do as I say,” she seethed. “Or you will wish I had left you to rot in the Pit.”

Bane’s glare shined with something indecipherable. He waited a few more moments before bending down to remove his pants.

Johan’s eyes widened with one thought: _This woman is a monster_.

“Don’t do it, Bane,” the boy said weakly as he tried to move off the bed. His movements were too slow, however, and Bane pinned his wrists above his head before he could get far enough.

The man straddled his thick thighs over the boy and he was pumping his length in preparation. Miranda’s hand job from earlier seemed to have worn off and Bane’s penis was almost limp; he was quickly jerking off as it slowly engorged itself. Taking Bane’s length was difficult for the boy under normal circumstances. It was going to be hell now.

“Hurry up, my dear,” Miranda ordered as she tapped the blunt edge of the knife to her hand.

Johan looked up to Bane; the man was staring down at the bloody opening, aiming his length at the mutilated hole.

“Bane…” the boy whispered. The man turned to Johan’s face.

The boy tilted his head to lay a kiss on Bane’s cheek, exactly as he had this past afternoon. Bane brought a hand up and lightly touched Johan’s lips with his thumb. The gray eyes were no longer unreadable - the message in them was clear as daylight: _Forgive me_.

Bane plunged his entire length inside in one powerful thrust. The wind was knocked from Johan’s lungs from the intense burning. Every push by Bane into his opening made the muscle laceration tear deeper and wider and sent waves of pain that stretched from the boy’s knees to his lower back. He cried out with each thrust and couldn’t prevent the fresh tears from rolling down his face. Bane would grunt through the mask with every push and there was a sickening sound of wet suction with each plunge of his length.

Miranda chuckled with glee at the sight of Bane’s assault. “Harder, darling,” she said, “you’re being too soft on him.”

The man immediately plunged deeper and with more force, the muscle stretching and tearing more. The sheets were sliding on Johan’s back roughly with each strong push and sweat from Bane’s neck was dripping onto Johan’s t-shirt, mixing with the bloodstains already there. Miranda gave an ugly grin to the boy and paced to the side of the bed. She reached her upper body over the mattress and yanked off the bandage covering Johan’s left bicep; it was from his injury in the park earlier that day. The boy barely registered what she was doing when the knife sunk into the fresh gunshot wound.

“Ah!” he screamed.  _What a bitch_!

She smiled and stabbed the knife deeper down as fresh blood ran down his arm. The teeth in the boy’s mouth ground down hard on each other and his eyes watered more. The dagger eventually stopped its violation and Miranda wiped the blade clean on Johan’s shirt. The boy’s body continued to jar with each of Bane’s thrusts; she smiled wickedly at him again.

Johan was passed the point of crying out now, his throat hoarse from the strain. His face was sticky from tears and was flushed red; the golden eyes were glazed over from pain and the boy let out a feeble moan in sync with each of Bane’s grunts. The man was still holding his wrists tightly and Johan knew it would form finger-shaped bruises later.

_Hope he’s close_ , Johan thought tiredly, _I can’t take much more of this_.

As if on cue Bane tensed and his seed began to spill into Johan. The boy breathed out a heave of relief as Bane slowly got in some post-orgasm thrusts. The man finally pulled out and rolled to the side, wheezing heavily through the mask. Miranda walked to the bed and stroked Bane’s cheek in a motherly fashion.

“Well done, my dear, well done,” she purred with satisfaction. She paid no mind to Johan. “Talk with me outside for a moment. I must inform you of some developments.”

She strode to the door and knocked twice. Barsad opened it from the other side and Johan saw the man’s eyes flit briefly to the large patch of blood on the bed under the boy’s legs; his drowsy gaze showed no visible reaction. The masked man panted a few more times before rising up to walk naked into the hallway. The door closed behind them and Johan was left on the bed, sweaty and bloody. 

Johan stared at the ceiling; the calm expression on his face was a stark contrast to the horror he had just gone through.

_She_...he thought with sadness. _She made him do this to me,_ he figured with designed wonder. _She...made him...I just don't understand...Bane wouldn't...._

Even though the boy had just undergone an unspeakable torture, he should have been more bothered. Instead of sobbing in anger or frustration at what had just happened, he was replaying the look in Bane’s eyes right before the man thrust himself inside.

_Forgive me_.

It couldn’t have been translated in Johan’s mind any other way. Miranda was obviously a sadist, but this proved Bane surely wasn’t. He didn’t enjoy causing others undue pain.

_Well_ , Johan amended, _at least others he considers ‘worthy’ anyway. People unworthy like Victor Cowell didn’t get equal treatment._

But the boy still didn’t understand how Bane worked.

_Why does he do what she says even when he doesn’t want to?_ Johan wondered. _Bane could easily break her neck like a toothpick._

Both Miranda and Bane were still outside and the boy was abruptly aware of how much of a mess he was. Blood and semen were still seeping from his aggravated entrance and the sheets of the bed were ruined. Johan sat up slowly, taking shallow breaths as his backside erupted in pain. He tentatively reached one foot over the bed and his sliced muscle screamed in protest. Pivoting his body, Johan sat on the edge of the mattress and gradually rose to a standing position. His feet shuffled in small steps as he made his way to the bathroom to shut the door behind him. He turned the water temperature in the shower to 'HOT' and waited a few moments for it to warm. While standing he looked in the mirror.

_Ouch_ , he thought. _I look awful_.

The bottom part of his jaw was swollen and dried blood was caked on the corners of his mouth from his bleeding tongue. The lip was split and one eye was puffy from where Talia had kicked his head. One side of his torso was developing fresh bruises from her other swift punts to his ribs.

The water streaming down was steamy now and Johan gingerly stepped into the shower. The water stung at first when it cascaded onto his fresh cuts. His eyes trailed down by the drain as he saw pink swirls of watery blood disappear into the grate. Johan took a deep breath and stayed still under the steady stream, letting the water wash away the dirtiness.

There was a knock on the door so light that Johan barely heard it.

“It’s unlocked,” the boy called.

The door creaked open and Johan pulled the shower curtain back to see Bane holding some folded clothes and a tiny bottle. He seemed to hesitate before stepping inside the bathroom. The man purposely avoided Johan’s eyes.

“This is antibiotic ointment, Joseph,” he rasped, studying the boy’s naked body. His gaze lingered on the fresh bruises from Miranda’s attentions. “For your…entrance.”

The boy stared silently at the man. _I should be mad for what he did_ , Johan rationalized, _but for some reason I’m not. Maybe it’s because he looks so damn guilt-ridden._

“Thanks,” Johan replied softly. Bane’s body looked like it was hunched over in shame.

_I almost feel bad for him_ , the boy thought. _I think he’s Talia’s prisoner as much as I’m his_.

Johan turned off the showerhead and stepped out, grabbing a fresh towel on the wall rack. The large man was still standing inside the bathroom as the boy dried off his body. He winced as he carefully dabbed the raw area around his torn opening; the white towel was speckled with some fresh blood.

“Your wound,” Bane said quietly when he saw the towel. “Will it require stitches?”

“No,” Johan said as he carefully stepped into the folded pair of sweatpants Bane delivered. “It’ll heal just the same as the rest of my body.”

“Your body will heal, yes,” Bane rasped, “but what of your soul?”

A t-shirt was midway over his head when Johan paused.

_Huh?_ He wondered. _My soul?_

His head popped through the shirt opening and he stared back at the man, baffled with the turn in conversation.

“If you think I’m going to go crazy after tonight I won’t. Miranda didn’t phase me,” the boy asserted and snatched the ointment off the sink counter. Johan unscrewed the cap and squeezed some of the gel onto his fingertips. “And neither did you.”

Bane sighed. “You are strong for one so small, my flower.”

“I’ve had worse,” Johan said as he re-screwed the cap of the ointment. “Besides, I know Miranda’s your boss. You have to do what she says.”

“Talia.”

“What?” Johan asked.

“Her true name is Talia,” Bane said.

“Oh,” the boy uttered and held his waistband out with one hand while smearing the antibiotic ointment on his hole; it was cold but didn’t sting. “That definitely suits her. It sounds more exotic.”

_And dangerous_ , Johan thought. _Psycho bitch…_

Johan eased himself passed Bane and out into the bedroom. The blood soaked sheets had been replaced with fresh linens while he was in the shower. He advanced slowly to the bed, taking tiny steps to not stretch anything below the waist. In exhaustion he flattened himself face down on his side of the bed and rubbed his face into the pillow; his skin was hot but the fabric was cool to the touch.

Heavy boots shuffled along the carpet and Johan’s body dipped slightly inward as Bane sat down on his own side of the bed. Johan turned his face sideways on the pillow to see the man was holding a book: _The Count of Monte Cristo_. The boy had had to stop reading the story earlier because his hands were shaking so much that it was hurting his eyes to concentrate on the printed words. The trembling in his hands had stopped after Miranda left and Johan was grateful for the respite. But being brutally terrorized by a crazy lady didn't exactly put him in the reading mood. What he wanted most was to sleep. The bedside clock was smashed on the floor from when Johan’s body had knocked it over but he figured it was close to four in the morning.

“This book,” Bane wheezed, “is about a man who escapes from prison.”

“Yeah, I know the story,” Johan said tiredly. Bane’s large fingers were flipping through the tattered pages. The book was very old; not a first edition by any means, but the spine was worn down from being used often. “I haven’t read that far in yet, though. He’s still making the tunnel to get out.”

Bane closed the book and placed it on his bedside table. He was wringing his hands while staring at them.

“Talia is the one who rescued me from my home.”

“You mean the prison where Bruce is?”

“The same.”

Johan bit his lip and wondered if he should ask another question. Whereas the boy had given in and answered some inquiries into his own life, Bane had evaded the few of Johan’s personal questions entirely.

_This could be the night I get some answers from him_ , Johan thought. _I’ll take a chance. He’s not going to pummel me in this state if he gets mad. At least, I hope…_

“How do you know Talia?” Johan prodded. “Is she family?”

“We are not family,” Bane answered. “But our bond is stronger than blood. We lived together in the Pit.”

_The Pit is the name of the prison_ , Johan remembered. _Talia mentioned it earlier_.

“So she came and got you after she served her sentence?”

The masked man sighed. “I already told you, Joseph. No man can leave that place.”

“Then how could she get out? She couldn’t rescue you if she never left.”

Bane turned to Johan, his eyes crinkling. “I said no _man_ could escape, I didn’t say _child_.”

The boy blinked. “She was a child in _prison_?”

“She was born there. As was I.”

It took a few seconds for the words to make sense in the boy’s mind. Johan had heard of these types of things occurring in ancient countries with antiquated penal systems. But he had never seen it up close, let alone in present day.

“You two were punished for the sins of your fathers,” the boy spoke slowly.

“Indeed,” Bane acknowledged. “Such a thing was common in our homeland.”

_I feel sorry for them_ , Johan thought. _Now I understand why they both are so brutal and see violence and death as everyday life - to them, it was routine._

“Bane,” Johan said and sat up lopsided, not putting weight on his backside. “Please, tell me: why do you follow her? I guess you owe her a debt for saving you, but you aren’t like her. I can see it in your eyes.”

The man turned away quickly and Johan slumped his soldiers. It seemed like this was the end of their conversation. That was when Bane reached to his bedside table and opened the top drawer. His hand searched for a moment before emerging with a half-braided piece of rope. The top portion was a beautiful three-strand pattern; the unfinished half was a loose gobble of string. The large man shifted his body and leaned back against the headboard. The thick fingers began moving in a manner that seemed to defy their size: very deftly and with much speed.

Johan waited quietly for a few minutes. Bane then began to speak.

“The Pit is a devil that taunts those within its walls,” he wheezed. “The sun rises each morning and shines through the canopy of the prison. It is a torture that drove many men mad. You see, there is a way out of hell, but it is impossible reach. Many eager men have died trying to climb the rock wall up to this route of escape. I myself did the climb once and am still paying the price of my foolishness.”

The man sighed deeply and continued braiding. Johan was enraptured by the story.

“So how did Talia make it out?”

Bane’s eyes flashed with fondness. “She was a creature more wondrous than I had ever seen. I was already a man when Talia’s mother was ravaged and killed by the men of our home. When I saved her as a girl, the innocence in her eyes was the most beautiful sight I had ever observed. All my life I had only known the violent way of the Pit - no one received mercy, for there was none to be given. But Talia was gentle and pure. I protected her. I swore to give my life by defending her.”

_‘Talia was gentle and pure’ my ass_ , Johan thought with bitterness.

The man paused to take some breaths. He seemed winded from telling his account.

“One day there was a riot,” he said and his eyes darkened. “Talia was beginning to enter womanhood. There was a frenzy of men trying to take her for themselves. The number against us was too many. I did the only thing I could: she tried the climb to freedom. And she succeeded.”

Johan rubbed his cheek against his pillow. “I can see why you admire her.”

“There is more, Joseph. During my life in the darkness, since I was a boy, I had clung to the hope that one day someone would make the climb out. The light above me was but a lure, an attraction to sustain my soul while I lingered in the shadows. I did not know it at the time, but it was a pitiful existence. My hope for freedom was to remain forever unfulfilled.”

Bane’s eyes were filled with pride in preparation for this next part of his tale.

“That was until my Talia escaped. I saw that I was right in placing what little hope I had left in her. By making the climb she kept me from true despair. But then I realized the only thing I had ever loved was gone,” he continued. “I wasted away for several years until Talia returned with her father. The League of Shadows took me in.”

The man stopped talking and placed the braid in the drawer, shutting it softly.

Johan cleared his throat and absorbed all of the information.

_What a shame_ , he thought. _If Bane had been born somewhere else he could have done anything he wanted. He was a victim of circumstance._

“I didn’t expect you to tell me any of this,” Johan said quietly.

Bane rotated his torso to lean across the bed. He rubbed his fingers on Johan’s lips. A kiss.

“It is so you know she was not always cruel, Joseph,” he told him in a troubled tone.

The boy grasped the hand that was stroking his mouth. He massaged his thumb on the man’s palm.

“Do you still love her?” the boy pressed.

“My love for her is irrelevant,” Bane stated. “What matters is the oath I made: I will serve and protect her until the day I am defeated.”

“But she’s not the same person you made the oath to,” Johan suggested. “That innocent girl is gone.”

Bane’s eyes darkened for the second time. “An honorable man will keep his vows, even if time changes everything and everyone around him.”

_He’s so loyal_ , Johan thought. The boy breathed out a sigh. “Do you always do what she tells you?”

“I have pledged myself to her.”

“Even if you don’t agree?”

“I must, Joseph.”

“That’s a shame,” the boy said quietly. “I know you didn’t like fucking me earlier. I could see it in your face.”

Bane said nothing, still leaning against the headboard and staring at the opposite wall.

“You got me off earlier today,” Johan said as his face flushed, thinking of the quick handjob. “Why?”

“My desert flower,” he rumbled and sidled closer to the boy. “You do not understand your own worth. Twice you have been willing to sacrifice your life: once for a friend, the other for an enemy. When you protected Barsad today, you proved yourself deserving of my…attentions.”

Bane got near enough to pull Johan up, making the boy rest his head on the man’s chest.

Johan sighed again. "Will I ever be getting those, um, ' _attentions_ ' again?"

The man's chest rumbled against the boy's ear. "Perhaps one day, when you have truly given yourself to me."

"But I already have. I let you do whatever you want to me."

"A person is not only a body, my Joseph, but a soul as well. Access to your flesh is not enough - I must own all of you."

"You can't _own_ a person's soul."

The man wrapped an arm around Johan's waist. "Tell me your name."

Johan blinked. "You already know it."

"What I know is that your name is not 'Joseph'. You refused to tell me the truth when I inquired."

"I don't understand why you want it."

"Who else knows your true name?"

"Not anyone living."

"Oh?" Bane asked. "Not even your precious Mr. Wayne?"

"No."

The man hummed. "There you have your answer. It is not merely the name that I am seeking," Bane said slowly. "It is your willingness to sacrifice it. The day you tell me is when I will have all of you."

"No one knows my real name," Johan told the man. "I want to keep it that way."

Bane's eyes shimmered. "We shall see."

_This is so weird_ , the boy thought. _Every time I talk to this guy I peel back another layer. Time to change the subject before this conversation gets too awkward..._

Johan cleared his throat loudly. “Well I guess you're never jacking me off again. I won't have many chances to jump in front of bullets if I'm cooped up in here.”

“Hush,” Bane soothed as he stroked Johan’s still damp hair. “It must be so. You cannot be allowed to jeopardize our plans.”

“Yeah,” Johan commented dryly. “You can’t have me stopping an atomic bomb from going off.”

“Yes, because then I would have to kill you.”

 Johan stiffened. “When is the bomb detonating?”

“I will not tell you that.”

_The masked bastard,_ Johan said inwardly. _He’s willing to kill a whole city just to fulfill a promise to one woman? In this respect he’s just as bad as that bitch._

The boy lifted himself off the man’s chest and pivoted to face him. He was now glaring at the man, the relaxed mood now forgotten.

“You know that if I get the chance I’ll stop you and Talia,” Johan told him, his eyes blazing with conviction. “Bruce’s one life isn’t worth more than ten million.”

Bane’s eyes gleamed wildly. “I would anticipate nothing less in one such as you, Joseph.”

“You’re excited about me trying to beat you?” Johan asked in surprise.

“Of course, my flower,” he said with crinkling eyes. “Enemies make for the best companions.”


	9. Chapter 9

_Present day, September_

By the time he returned his bike the trembling had gotten worse. Much worse. Pain from the constant muscle spasms was traveling up to his arms and neck; Johan grit his teeth from the discomfort. The night air had grown cooler as Johan stealthily moved from rooftop to rooftop, hopping over the alleyways between buildings. His knees were beginning to shake and after one particular landing he tried to roll but his knee locked - he fell face first on the roof. Luckily he had put his mask back on so the tensile fibers absorbed the brunt of the forceful scrape. He got up, brushed the stealth suit off, and kept running.

_Almost to the docks_ , he told himself. _I should call the GCPD and give an anonymous tip about Ra’s body. I don’t want some kid walking up and finding his mutilated corpse…_

The bright sodium lights over the shipping yard soon emerged in a glowing aura ahead. Johan dropped to the street clumsily, dashing to the door in the chain link security fence. He hurriedly punched in the code and moved across the area towards the Wayne Enterprises containers. On the way he placed an untraceable call to the GCPD through his communication device, directly to Detective Bullock’s desk phone. The guy usually worked late so Johan knew he had a good chance of reaching him.

“Bullock speaking,” the man answered. His voice sounded muffled like he was chewing something.

_Probably eating donuts_ , Johan figured. _Bullock could definitely stand to lose a few pounds._

The boy went direct to business. “There’s been a murder near the intersection of 33rd street and 7th avenue.”

Johan heard a sputtered cough on the other line and the creak of a chair as the man sat up.

“A murder?” the man asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Where did you say it was?”

The boy sighed and repeated the address. “There’s a body,” he added.

Bullock gave a dry chuckle. “A guy already died there two nights ago. You sure your information is right, kid?”

“Yes.”

“Is this a prank?”

“No.”

“Who the hell are you?” the man inquired suspiciously. “Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?”

The boy fought a sigh. Johan continued. “That doesn’t matter. You should get over there.”

He hung up just as Bullock started to ask more questions. Johan knew Bullock would send a car; the guy may not be the most cooperative cop, but he didn’t skimp on his duties. Plus, a detective would have to arrive on the murder scene eventually. There was no point in calling 9-1-1, having a patrol car arrive, and then waiting for a detective to show up once the beat cops called in the crime scene. This way Bullock would get there quicker and the body would be gone faster. Johan didn’t have a good feeling leaving Ra’s body lying around for too long.

_Hopefully Bullock gets to the scene soon_ , Johan thought dryly. _Just in case the guy really is immortal and walks away…_

Once he reached the Wayne Enterprises container Johan’s hand had to try twice to turn the doorknob of the office building before he burst in, legs quivering terribly. Grasping desks and shelves for purchase, Johan made his way to the center desk with the phone. He punched in 7-1-1.

The floor trembled and Johan almost fell, holding tightly onto the desk edge for support. The spasms in his lower legs were shooting up though his spine.

_This is escalating too quick_ , he thought with clenched fists. _Whatever the hell that remote was did some serious damage to the nanos._

As the platform descended Johan noticed that the chamber lights were already on; it was strange because they usually flickered to life only once the platform plunged into the room. He pivoted his whole body to take a surrounding look of the room.

_Someone must be here already_ , Johan realized.

Then he saw who it was.

Johan froze in shock, his mouth agape under the mask and eyes wide-open.

_A ghost_ , the boy thought. _He can’t be real_.

But the man _was_ real. He was standing and leaning against the counter of the Bat-Computer. His arms were folded confidently and a charming smile was plastered on his face. The man looked completely different from when Johan left him two years ago. Back then he was a husk of himself. Now he was his old self, calm and assured with that same playboy smile.

“Hey, Joe,” Bruce greeted. The voice was exactly as Johan remembered – deep, but with an intelligent edge that contrasted with the man’s nonchalant appearance.

“Bruce,” Johan spoke dumbfounded. The platform clunked into place and Johan took a trembling step forward. “ _Holy shit_.”

Johan continued walking and pulled off his mask to see the man unimpeded.

The man’s sharp gaze absorbed Johan’s appearance instantly: the bloody hands, deep neck wound, and quivering body.

“What happened?” he asked and walked towards the boy.

“Um, I…” Johan stammered. The man reached him and enclosed him in a warm embrace. The boy was too in shock to reciprocate.

_This seems real enough_ , Johan reasoned as he felt the solid arms around him. He directed his gaze to the man’s face. Bruce’s skin was sun kissed and he had let his brunette hair grow out longer, right above his shoulders. Johan reached up and placed a shaky hand on Bruce’s face; the man smiled down at him.

“How are you alive?” Johan requested quietly.

Bruce took the smaller hand in his; it was still trembling.

“I’ll tell you, but first we need to get you fixed up. You look awful.”

Johan said nothing and let Bruce walk him to the chair in front of the Bat-Computer, the man taking an ample amount of the boy’s weight. Johan’s body slumped into the seat while the man headed to the metal storage units against the wall where the boy stored the stealth suit.

Bruce opened a drawer and raised an eyebrow to Johan. “It’s your nanos, right?”

“Yeah,” Johan replied weakly and slowly took off the blood-soaked gloves to roll a sleeve up. “I need the stabilizer serum.”

_It’s my last one_ , he thought with a cringe. _I need to get more from Dr. Saunders._

The man nodded and retrieved a needle and syringe. Striding over to the far side of the units, Bruce opened the door of an industrial size fridge and took out a chilled vial of white opaque liquid. After returning to Johan he set the materials on the counter and began readying the injection. Johan watched in a detached manner as Bruce carefully attached the needle to the syringe before using it to suck out the liquid from the vial. It was like watching a dream.

_But I’m awake and this is actually happening_ , Johan rationalized. _Bruce is alive and right in front of me._

Bruce removed the needle from the vial and pushed up the plunger to force out the excess air in the syringe. Without direction Johan held out his arm as best he could and Bruce ripped open an alcohol wipe, cleaning off the sweat and grime from Johan’s exposed bicep. Carefully he inserted the needle into Johan’s muscle, pushing down on the plunger to inject all the serum; Johan couldn’t stop his arm from shuddering so Bruce held down firmly.

_Bruce_ , Johan thought with wonder, _it’s like you never left. Like you were never dead…_

The boy remembered the first time he ever met the man.

_Six men piled out of a windowless panel van in front of a jewelry store, each clothed in black outfits with balaclavas covering their faces. The man at the front of the pack fished out a bolt cutter from his bag. The sharp bite of the tool snapped through the hook of a padlock that fastened the roll-down security gate to the sidewalk. Another man bent down and pushed up on the gate, the metal clinking as it was forced upwards into a compact spiral overhead. The same man with the bolt cutter lowered his head in front of the now exposed glass doors and inserted a pick into the door lock, deftly moving his hands with practiced ease; in thirty seconds the door popped open. A blaring siren from inside the store began to alarm as the burglars filed in._

_Johan glanced down at the digital time on his suit’s wrist: 04:37._

_They’ve got five minutes to stuff as much jewels as they can into their bags, Johan reasoned. Longer than that and they’ll get caught by the cops. Or, if I’m lucky, someone else…_

_The boy had been in Gotham for a month and it was his first time in the city. He had been in India when the news in Gotham had reached its peak, when the broadcasts that had everyone who paid attention to international media perking up their ears in interest._

_The Batman._

_This Batman was trying to cleanup Gotham. Or so it seemed, anyway. He was some sort of masked crusader that fought criminals, but only at night as there had been no sightings during the day. The cause of the media ruckus was a giant train explosion that could have led to millions of people being affected by some sort of nerve gas, or toxin, or whatever threat the news reported. No one was sure of anything, except that Batman had played a part to stop it; that’s what the Gotham Police Department had speculated. And while doing such heroic deeds, the Batman had been spotted by numerous cell phones and lucky camera crews._

_And the man can definitely fight, Johan thought._

_From the few shoddy video clips that Johan had seen the vigilante had been trained, and trained well at that. Johan could tell an experienced fighter in a heartbeat. If this guy was for real and was trying to fight crime in the city, then Johan knew he could use some help. It was too big a job for one person._

_The boy had seen the grainy video footage while sipping on a bottle of Kingfisher in a bar; it was then he decided to end his little vacation. Living at a beach house in Tamil Nadu was nice; he had enjoyed his easy life of swimming in the ocean and drinking fresh coconut water. But the boy knew he had to keep his promise to both Dr. Saunders and himself. Gotham could undoubtedly use his certain set of expertise. It was his responsibility to help this Batman guy out._

_Ever since his arrival to Gotham the boy had tried scouring the city on a nightly basis, hoping to get the jump on a crime and see the Batman in action. But every effort on Johan’s part had proven fruitless. So far the boy had been on the wrong side of town while Batman had been busy saving citizens from a burning building or something else similarly heroic. Either the boy was too far from the action or he simply arrived to a scene too late, only to catch a glimpse of Batman’s cape gliding away. And Johan didn’t just want to see the man – he wanted to see him fight._

_The boy looked at his wrist again. One minute had elapsed. Then two. Then three._

_At four he saw a swirl of black._

_Yes! Johan thought triumphantly. I chose the right heist to trail._

_Without moving Johan watched from his peripheral vision as the Batman landed on the rooftop directly opposite the jewelry store; Johan had chosen a higher building, one edifice over from Batman’s spot._

_His suit is wicked cool, Johan admired as his eyes traveling up and down the vigilante’s armor from the black boots to the pointy ears._

_It was definitely military grade, but not the stuff that grunts wear. Johan wished he could see it better but the lighting was poor since the sun hadn’t begun to rise yet; it was springtime but it was still too early for daylight. Even so, the boy knew it was a sound suit of defensive material._

_As Johan studied the suit the Batman had something in his gloved hand; he threw it onto the passenger front tire of the criminals' awaiting van. It was a small black dot that blinked red as it landed on the tire’s rim. Johan waited in suspense to see what would happen._

_Nothing. Just red blinking._

_Huh? Johan mused. Is it a tracker?_

_The Batman dug his hand in his suit and brought out a black square with something like a button in the middle. The man remained motionless on the rooftop, his head never diverting its direction from the store._

_Johan let out a disappointed sigh at having to wait for something to happen; he moved his gaze to the doors of the shop where the burglars were now congregating. Their sacks were burdened with precious jewels and the driver in the van, doubling as a lookout, gave them the all-clear. One by one they filed out of the shop and back into the vehicle. The sliding door slammed shut and the van moved about a foot forward._

_Johan saw the Batman push his thumb down on the button._

_The entire tire burst into flames in a loud explosion. Smoke was filling the street as Johan heard the driver gunning the engine of the van to make the vehicle move. The sound of scraping metal grated on Johan’s ears as the back tires of the van were squealing, causing the lowered front bumper to grind forward on the asphalt. But the van hardly budged and the smell of burnt rubber permeated the air. Confused voices were calling out to each other inside the van before the sliding door opened and the burglars began running out, screaming frantically. Three men stayed by the door of the van while another three walked around to the damaged side, the side closest to the Batman; two of them had handguns drawn._

_“What the fuck happened?” said one of the men with a gun. He was tall and fat, his gut prominent under the dark clothing._

_“I don’t know, I didn’t see any anybody!” cried one of the others nervously._

_“Joey, for fuck’s sake,” yelled the fat man in anger. “Look at the tire!”_

_The smoke had cleared and Johan could see the tire, or at least, what had once been the tire. The remains left were chunks of warped metal and rubber that had melted into a gooey pile on the street. So much of the van’s frame around the tire had been blown off that Johan could see the front axel underneath and bits of burned upholstery exposed from the inside._

_Man, he’s got some good gadgets, Johan thought._

_That was when Batman came to life. Johan saw him fling his arm twice, the movements only a second apart. Each time a shiny glint of light from the street lamps caught on the small things he was throwing rapidly. Johan heard both the painful yelps of the men and clinks of metal falling on the street. The boy looked to see that two of the criminals had dropped their guns and were holding their bleeding wrists. As his eyes studied the ground, Johan could see bat-shaped projectiles reflecting light on the asphalt._

_He has his own personal brand of shuriken, the boy thought with amazement. And he unarmed those guys with no problem. That requires a lot of precision..._

_Before the other men could grasp the situation the Batman flew down to the street, his cape billowing in the warm air, and tackled the one presumably called Joey nearest the scorched tire._

_He practically glided down! Johan thought to himself. How did he do that with his cape?_

_The burglar called Joey went down with a heavy thud as the fat man close by gasped in alarm; the man crouched down to grab his gun. The criminal never had a chance as Batman landed a swift uppercut to the man’s chin. The fat man was bodily lifted off the ground before crashing down into a heap on the asphalt, no longer moving. Blood poured out from his mouth as if he had lost some teeth._

_Out cold, Johan thought as his eyes trailed the scene._

_“Fuck! It’s the Bat!” one of the men on the other side of the van shouted._

_“Run. Get the fuck outta here!” yelled another as they scurried away from the Batman brutalizing their buddies._

_The only man left on the near side of the van went down from one of Batman’s powerful sidekicks, a quick cry of pain escaping from his covered up face. The other four unarmed men, already seeing their partners being beaten down on the street, continued to flee. Two men, one of them the driver who had fallen out of the van in haste, went left down the block while the other two went right._

_Batman laid a quick punch to the third man’s gut before craning his neck between the two groups of fleeing men. Johan watched as Batman saw the two men running to the right turn a corner and disappear down an alley. The vigilante dug into his suit again and grasped a device from his belt; the man extended his arm into the air._

_A loud band echoed into the night and Johan watched in fascination as a rope shot out of the device. Johan saw that it had some type of grapple hook on the end. The hook wrapped around the horizontal bar of a streetlamp down the block; it clamped on tight with a loud slap. The vigilante pressed a button on the handheld portion of the device and Johan looked on as the man’s body was flung into the air, whipping down the street towards the light in a matter of seconds. The man pivoted his body midair so that he curved downwards towards the alleyway and swung around the corner in pursuit of the burglars._

_That is so neat, Johan mused to himself. He has a lot of fancy toys…_

_Johan turned his head to the other end of the block where he could still make out the clattering footsteps of the other half of the jewel thieves._

_Well, I did want to help the guy out, Johan figured. Here it goes._

_Johan stood from his crouch and leapt from building to building on the rooftops. The footsteps of the burglars were growing louder and Johan could see them running in a straight line down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road. T_ _he boy was three buildings behind them and caught a glimpse of the two men making a sharp left, towards his side of the street._

_Where are they going? He wondered. His gold eyes turned left and he saw._

_There was a train stop nearby, five blocks to the left, for the above ground railway. Johan continued running._

_The two guys must be making a dash for it, he realized. Trying to make the train…_

_Instead of remaining parallel with the street, Johan started sprinting on the rooftops diagonally towards the train stop. He made a long leap onto a rickety fire escape onto a higher building before scrambling back onto the roof in order to keep on his new path. Soon he was one building away from the raised train platform. He saw the burglars huffing down an alleyway behind him; Johan had managed to beat them there._

_Here comes the fun part, the boy thought with a smirk._

_The first man coming towards Johan was ten feet in front of the other man, the van driver. The boy unsnapped his fighting stick and stood on the rooftop edge. He waited until he was absolutely sure of his aim before bending back and using his forward motion to hurl the stick in a spinning motion at the front burglar. The stick made a sickening thud as it hit the man directly in the gut. The man let out a weak howl before doubling over and falling heavily on his knees. The driver behind him almost passed by the injured man before realized his partner had stopped._

_“Hey, Mike, you okay?” the man asked, clearly out of breath from running. He hadn’t noticed the pitch-black stick twirling through the air in the dark alleyway._

_Johan inhaled slowly and sprung off the roof, completing a front tuck somersault and aiming himself a few feet away from the driver; the man was facing away. He landed in a crouch and straightened himself quickly. The man heard the soft landing and turned around hurriedly. In the opening of the balaclava slit, Johan saw the man’s eyes widen in panic while he stepped back in shock._

_“You – you’re not the Bat,” the burglar said in confusion._

_The boy took a step forward. “No. I’m not.”_

_Before the man could say another word Johan landed a sudden kick to the side of man’s head. The man collapsed heavily on the dirty ground and stayed still. The golden eyes assessed the situation instantly: the man named Mike was moaning quietly on the ground while the driver was now an unconscious jumble of limbs below him. He picked up his stick and snapped it on his back._

_All done here, Johan thought. Now I just have to wait for him._

_The boy made it about a block away from the burglars when the man of the hour landed ten feet in front of him. Batman stared at the boy, assessing his new target._

_The boy gave the man a small wave. "Hey."_

_“Who are you?” the Batman demanded. His voice was gravelly and dramatic, obviously a put on growl._

_Well this is unexpected, Johan thought with interest. Why would he have to disguise his voice?_

_“I’m no one,” Johan told him calmly. “Just thought I’d give you a hand.”_

_“I don’t want help.” The eyes behind the cowl narrowed. “Don’t do this again.”_

_“Do what, exactly?” the boy asked and pointed to the alleyway he had come from. “Take out some criminals? I made your job easier.”_

_“I work alone.”_

_“So?”_

_“Stay out of my way.”_

_“I didn’t say I wanted to be your partner,” Johan pointed out. “Just think of me as, um, some extra assistance.”_

_“I don’t want it,” Batman growled._

_“Yeah, because fighting crime by yourself in this city is practical.”_

_“I don’t need support.”_

_“Not at all?” Johan prodded and tapped a finger to his own masked covered ear. “My guess is people feed you information through an earpiece you have. I know because my suit’s communications system can detect your frequency.”_

_The man’s eyes narrowed behind the cowl. “It will be easier for you if you end all this, kid. I’ll tell you once more: don’t do this again.”_

_“Someone talking in an earpiece isn’t the same as on-site aid,” Johan said, ignoring Batman’s request entirely. “You could use an extra hand.”_

_The Batman didn’t speak._

_So Johan spoke instead. “I’m staying to fight crime here. Whether you like it or not, I’m not leaving Gotham for a while.”_

_The man formed his hands into fists. “I can’t allow that. You’ll be injured or killed.”_

_“I’m not some middle-aged Batman impersonator wearing hockey pads. I can handle myself.”_

_“I doubt that, kid.”_

_“Did you not see those jewel thieves?” Johan asked, pointing once again to the alley behind them. “They’re puddles on the ground now. I took them out with no problem.”_

_Batman’s eyes didn’t leave the boy. “Those were small time crooks. They don’t know how to really fight.”_

_“But you do. You’re highly trained, I can tell.”_

_The man said nothing._

_Johan unsnapped his stick and dropped it to the ground. “Okay, then. I’ll prove myself to you.” The boy tilted his head to the side in contemplation. “How about we fight for it? Without weapons or any of your gadgets.”_

_The man’s lips pursed tightly. “Fight for what?”_

_“I win, you let me do my own thing. You win, then I go away and leave the city to you.”_

_“You want to fight me?” the man growled._

_“Yeah, why not?” Johan suggested and scratched the back of his head through the mask fabric. “You’re obviously well-trained.” Johan rolled his soldiers and moved into his fighting stance, knees bent and arms slightly folded in at the elbows, his hands at the ready. “But so am I.”_

_Batman studied him closely. “I don’t have time for this, kid.”_

_“If I’m as bad as you think, then this will be over quick. What do you have to lose?”_

_The man was silent for a few moments before taking a step closer to the boy._

_Up close, Johan finally had a good look at the man’s armor - it was intimidating. Some sort of rubber latex had been sprayed over the material shell to make it black in color, but the material itself appeared to be a type of Kevlar fabric, similar to Johan’s own stealth suit. The long gauntlets had a type of molded spikes sticking out; Johan made a mental note to stay away from those._

_“You’ll leave Gotham if I beat you?” Batman asked._

_“You got it, ” the boy replied and parted his legs further for his stance. “So deal?”_

_“I’m going to hurt you.”_

_“Trust me – you won’t. And remember, you can’t use any of your fancy things. Let’s play fair.”_

_“You’ll regret this,” Batman breathed out._

_“We’ll see about that. We have a deal?”_

_The man’s eyes glared at Johan. “Yes.”_

_The man bent his knees slightly as well, bending his arms at the elbow._

_This should be fun, the boy thought._

_They stood facing each other for several seconds, both of them breathing evenly and concentrating on their opponent, waiting for any telltale movement._

_Then Johan made the first move._

_He went from a stand still to sprinting within less than a second and made to swing a right uppercut at the man; he fainted at the last second and brought up his leg to kick the man’s knee. Batman detected the movement and blocked the kick, using one hand to stop the boy’s foot while using the other arm to aim an elbow thrust at Johan’s head. The boy tilted his upper body back and executed a backward flip, dodging the blow. While Batman was reorienting himself from the missed strike, the boy quickly placed a kick on the man’s unguarded side. The man grabbed Johan’s leg before he could retract it out of Batman’s grasp radius; Johan deftly rolled backwards before the man could get a hit in._

_It was Batman’s turn to spring forward, recovering from his side blow startlingly quick and landing a punch to Johan’s abdomen. The boy was able to flex in time to lessen the blow and strike out with a fist to Batman’s head; Johan made contact and felt the man’s cheek and nose smack against his hand. Instantly after attacking Johan twisted to the side and rolled, avoiding a kick from the man. Batman’s nose now had a thin trickle of blood running into his lips. The man wiped the liquid off with the back of his gloves. His eyes were hardened and reflected intense focus._

_He has green eyes, Johan noticed as they glittered in the reflected light from the street. The man’s black eye paint only made the green hue stand out more boldly._

_Just as Johan was about to move in for another attack, sirens of approaching police cars sounded in the distance. The boy held up wrist to check the time, not taking his full gaze off of the Batman. It was 4:47._

_The entire apprehending of the criminals and encounter with Batman had taken only ten minutes. Still, the reaction time for the police was slow; they had taken an extra five minutes from what Johan had predicted. Batman obviously heard the sirens too and straightened up, his fighting stance abandoned._

_Guess we’re done already, Johan thought with disappointment. We only got in a hit each. Too bad, I was having fun. It’s a bit presumptuous of him to abandon his stance, but I won’t hit him while he’s unguarded…_

_Johan relaxed his stance in turn and stood at ease._

_“You’re good,” Johan told Batman. “Your style is different from any I’ve seen. It’s traditional, but with a deadly flare. And your strikes could kill – that is, if you wanted them to.”_

_Batman inclined his head, a glint in his green eyes. “I don’t kill.”_

_“I know,” Johan said and nodded. “For as much damage as you do to criminals, you always hold back.”_

_“I was going easy on you.”_

_Johan shook his head. “Not just on me. You hold back on everyone.”_

_“How can you tell?” Batman asked in a low grumble._

_Johan mimicked the elbow attack that Batman had aimed at his head. “A split second before contact you purposely slowed down the move. For true effectiveness you need to carry through without losing momentum. You did the same thing with the guys outside the jewelry store.”_

_Batman motionless. His nose was still trickling blood._

_Not much of a talker, this one, Johan thought wryly._

_“We both landed one attack,” the boy suggested. His stomach was mildly sore, but nothing serious. “I think that means we tied.”_

_The sirens were down the street now, probably in front of the jewelry store. A patrol car would most likely be coming by soon to scout out the area for any suspicious activity. They both needed to be gone by then._

_“You shouldn’t be doing this,” the man said in answer._

_Johan shook his head. “Your cause is a good one, Batman, but it’s too much for one person. Whenever you need something, I’ll be there.”_

_Batman narrowed his eyes. “Don’t expect me to help you when you get into a bind, kid. You’ll be on your own.”_

_“Fine by me. I can take of myself,” Johan replied with a smile that Batman couldn’t see. “By the way, you already have my frequency - I just hacked into your communication band. Your system will have stored my frequency by now. Call me anytime you need help.”_

_“I won’t,” the man growled angrily, obviously perturbed that Johan had hacked his system._

_“Suit yourself, Batman.”_

_Once again the Batman was silent, his lips becoming a thin line._

_Johan sighed and headed away from the Batman, retreating from the sirens._

_The boy kept walking until he heard Batman growl loudly. “You didn’t tell me your name.”_

_He slowed to a stop, but didn’t turn around. He thought for a moment._

_I never thought I’d be using this codename again, Johan mused, but what the hell. Why not? Bad memories aside, I kind of like it._

_“It’s Shadow,” he told the man. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”_

_Batman let the boy leave; he didn’t say anymore. Johan heard the bang of the grapple gun as Batman left the alleyway but the boy didn’t look back. He was, however, still smiling._

“Done,” Bruce announced and removed the needle, throwing it into a trash bin under the counter. He pushed Johan’s sleeve down and sat back on the counter, studying the boy. Johan leaned back slowly in the chair and returned Bruce’s stare. He had pretty much gotten over the shock of seeing Bruce alive. Now it was time to get some answers…

“So,” Johan began awkwardly, “How were you not vaporized by the bomb? You flew right into it, mushroom cloud and all.”

The man paused a moment. “The autopilot did it for me, Joe. I bailed out onto a roof before the Bat even reached the bay.”

“Gordon said it was broken.”

“It wasn’t.”

_Hm_ , Johan thought. _Well that explains his miraculous survival._

Johan tapped his fingers on the chair’s armrest; the trembling was already beginning to fade. “They had a funeral for you.”

“I know,” Bruce said with a sigh. “Lucius said you weren’t there.”

“I tried but-,” Johan paused and his eyes narrowed. “Wait, hold on,” the boy told the man loudly and leaned close. “Lucius knows you’re alive?”

“And Alfred.”

_Are Gordon and me the only one’s in the dark?_ Johan wondered.

The boy’s eyes narrowed even more. “You’ve talked to them?”

Bruce shook his head and unfolded his arms, placing his palms on the metal counter he was leaning against. “Alfred saw me once, but we didn’t speak. Lucius and I have talked though – that’s actually why I’m here. He gave me some intelligence that I thought was worth returning for.”

“What kind of intel?”

The man’s eyes darkened. “Ra’s al Ghul is alive and in Gotham. Lucius picked up his location from the R&D facial recognition software. He’s here, Joe.”

Johan swallowed thickly and stared at the stone floor. “I know.”

Bruce’s eyes widened and he bent closer. “You do? How?”

“I saw him.”

“When?” the man prodded.

The boy breathed in and raised his head. “Thirty minutes ago.”

Johan saw the gears turning in Bruce’s face as the man’s eyes darted to the bloody gloves strewn on the floor and the slash in the boy’s neck.

“Tell me what happened, Joe,” Bruce said in a hollow tone.

There a beat of silence and the expression on Bruce’s face told the boy that the man already assumed the truth.

“I killed him,” Johan stated flatly.

A dense fog seemed to engulf the room as Bruce’s eye’s clenched shut at the boy’s words. The vast size of the chamber shrank as if Johan and Bruce were squashed together in a broom closet, sharing each other’s hot air.

“If it makes it any better it was self defense,” Johan explained weakly. “He was going to kill me. My nanos kicked into overdrive and stopped him.”

Bruce opened his eyes sharply at Johan’s last sentence. “So you lost control?”

_Shit,_ Johan thought, _I knew he wouldn’t like that part._

“You could say I used more force than necessary,” Johan said and rubbed his hands against his eyes. The shaking had completely stopped by this point; the serum worked fast.

Johan observed the man purse his lips; Bruce’s eyes were glaring down at him. “We needed him for information,” Bruce said tensely. “But you killed him because you couldn’t keep your nanomachines in check. That’s unacceptable.”

“Don’t blame this on me, Bruce – he brought it on himself,” the boy responded angrily, his cheeks flushing. He hastily dug in the pocket of his stealth suit, pulling out the padlock key and shards of the broken remote; he held out a shard to Bruce. “Ra’s used this _thing_ on me. It was some kind of remote. It made the machines go haywire. Under extreme duress my nanomachines will use excessive force to preserve themselves and their host. By using this he sealed his fate.”

“That doesn’t excuse what you did,” Bruce said heatedly as his eyes still shimmered in anger. “We don’t kill people, Joe. Even if they’re murderers.”

Johan’s brows furrowed. “I know that. If I could go back and do it again I would try and act differently. But I doubt it would have ended any other way. You know the best out of anyone, Bruce - death can’t always be avoided in our line of work. And anyway, I remember you saying you killed him before. Or at least you _thought_ you did.”

“That was different,” the man stated firmly, green eyes wide. “I didn’t kill him. I _let_ him die.”

“Whatever you say, Bruce. But for the record, _letting_ someone die doesn’t sound innocent to me.”

“He was an evil man.”

“So what does it matter that he’s dead?” Johan practically yelled. “You thought he was dead before, so I don’t know why you’re so angry that he actually _is_ dead now!”

“Because you killed someone, Joe.”

“I had no choice! _You_ had a choice on that train and you still let the guy die, so do me a favor, and _get off my back_ , Bruce.”

The man put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

“Then don’t come back from the dead just to criticize me!”

The man stared at him a few more moments before sighing and rubbing a hand over his face in exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said tiredly. “I understand. It was either you or Ra’s. What’s happened is done.” The man placed a hesitant hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Sorry I lectured you.”

Johan was staring at the floor. “It’s fine, Bruce,” he muttered quietly. 

Bruce didn’t respond; instead he took the broken piece of metal out of Johan’s grip.

“So this was a remote that interfered with your nanos,” Bruce pondered quietly, changing the subject. “This is what he wanted from Dr. Saunders…”

The boy’s head darted up and he almost gasped out loud, his previous anger at the man instantly forgotten.

“Dr. Saunders?”

Bruce breathed out deeply and put a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “She’s dead, Joe. Ra’s killed her seven days ago.”

Johan gulped. _Shit_ , he thought in anguish. _Poor Marie…_

The boy cleared his throat and steeled himself. “How do you know it was Ra’s?”

The man twirled the metal shard between his fingers, minding the sharp edges so he didn’t cut himself. “This device being able to manipulate your nanomachines is evidence enough. Before she was killed Ra’s must have coerced her into making it, or she at least gave him enough data that he could build this on his own. But besides that, I also contacted Lucius to carryout the first round of facial recognition. There were significant hits in the London area by her home.”

"Was it...quick?" the boy asked.

Bruce nodded. "Her throat was slit. I don't think she felt much pain."

_Good_ , the boy thought. _Marie didn't deserve a painful death._

“How did you even know to search for Ra’s in the first place?” Johan questioned as he chewed on his bottom lip. “You thought he was dead.”

Bruce put the shard back on the counter and folded his hands. “It was too much of a coincidence that the only woman in the world to pioneer nanotechnology was murdered. Lucius ran the software to detect any face already in the Bat-Computer database. The number of hits for Ra’s was too high to be ignored.”

_And using the recognition software, Bruce knew that Ra’s had traveled to Gotham_ , Johan figured. _But why go through all that trouble just to kill me? I guess he needed to get me out of the way to complete his plan. And how did Ra’s even know about my nanomachines?_

The encounter with Ra’s flashed in Johan’s mind:

_“Did Bane tell you my name?” the boy investigated._

_“He did, among other details that I asked of him.”_

_“And he told you everything you wanted?”_

_“In their entirety, yes,” Ra’s said with a merciless gleam._

Johan understood.

_Damn it!_ Johan thought _. Ra’s got the information from Bane. He must have pieced together details that Bane gave him about me to come to the conclusion that I had nanos. It was a pretty good deduction that not many in the world could make. All that was left for Ra’s to do was figure out a way to mess up my nanomachines, leading him to Dr. Saunders. If I could track her down, then Ra’s sure could._

“Ra’s must have needed to get close to me. I needed to be within range for him to use the device,” Johan thought out loud.

Bruce tapped his fingers on the counter. “How did Ra’s manage to find you?”

Johan coughed distractedly. “Well, um, I…” he stammered and scratched the back of his hair. “I thought I was…meeting Bane.”

The man’s face went blank. “Bane?”

“Yeah.”

“Bane is…alive?”

“He is.”

“And you know this how?”

The boy coughed again. “Ra’s told me.”

Bruce’s voice grew mildly defensive. “Bane got hit with the Batpod cannon. No one could survive that blast.”

“You _shot_ , Bane?” Johan asked incredulously.

Bruce’s mouth thinned out. “Selina did. She saved me in City Hall. There was no other option.”

_Oh I get it_ , Johan thought dryly, _so Selina can kill a guy but I can’t. Double standards._

“You can’t believe anything Ra’s told you, Joe.”

“But why would Ra’s lie to me about Bane being alive?” Johan prompted with raised eyebrows. “He was planning on killing me with that remote. It doesn’t make sense for him to make up some story to hide the real information.”

“Ra’s al Ghul is not a man you can trust,” Bruce conveyed bitterly. “His words are distorted and his life is a deception to everyone around him.”

_Bruce had history with the guy_ , Johan knew. _Ra’s ended up backstabbing him_.

Johan focused his eyes. “Well I think it’s worth a try to find Bane. Like you said, we can’t get information from Ra’s anymore so Bane would be our best bet to find out what the hell Ra’s’ plan is. Or more importantly, if there are any League members in Gotham to carryout his crazy scheme for him.”

"So Ra's does have a plan," the man said.

"He does," Johan confirmed. "And if Bane is alive he'd be apart of it."

Bruce chuckled in a cheerless and empty manner. “Because Bane, _if he’s alive_ , would just tell us what we wanted to know,” he remarked wryly.

Johan remembered another of Ra’s’ statements: _“He is being punished for his infractions. I will not have a rogue League member causing untold havoc in my name.”_

The boy continued chewing his bottom lip. “Maybe he will.”

_Maybe_ , Johan thought, _Bane won’t be loyal to Ra’s now that Talia’s dead. It’s possible…_

The man’s demeanor abruptly shifted; Bruce went from being semi-relaxed to suddenly stiff in the span of a second. It was as if he just remembered something important but didn’t want to talk about it. The change reminded Johan of a kid who didn’t want to let his Dad know that he broke the neighbor’s window. And right now, Bruce was a spitting image of a hesitant child.

“You know, Joe,” the man began hesitantly, “I’m with Selina now. She’s living with me.”

That took the boy by surprise. _Wow, didn’t see that one coming_ , he thought. _He’s with her even though she sold him out?_

“Ah, really, Bruce? She doesn’t seem like she’d be the, um, best girlfriend material.”

Bruce’s face blushed and he nodded quickly. “Selina proved herself in the end. Without her I could have never gotten rid of the bomb.”

“Fair enough,” Johan sighed. “As long as you’re happy."

“I am, Joe. She’s been good to me.”

The declaration didn’t sound entirely convincing to Johan’s ears but he was willing to let it slide. Bruce was a grownup and could be with whomever he wanted. However, even with that revelation out in the open, Johan was still confused.

“Why are you telling me this, Bruce?” Johan requested and stretched his arm to ruffle the back of his hair. “It’s not my business who you’re dating. _I_ left _you_ remember? You don’t owe me any explanations.”

“I know that.”

“Um, okay.” Johan was more than confused now. “What’s the deal then?”

“Selina…she told me something.”

The boy nodded. “Yeah, so? That’s what people in relationships do: tell each other things.”

Bruce cleared his throat and diverted his gaze from Johan to the ground. “She said…she told me you were in the sewers that night. The night that Bane almost killed me.”

The man continued to speak; Johan saw the lips move but he couldn’t comprehend it. He felt dizzy for some reason.

_Shit_ , Johan thought weakly, _I’m losing it_.

Too late. It all hit him at once.

The boy’s vision became blurry as a muffled wheezing noise erupted in Johan’s ears. Raspy breathing filled his hearing as if the mask of leather and metal was inside his head. Callused fingers brushed over his chapped lips and strong hands held him down while he was claimed over and over again. The smell of blood and semen permeated his nostrils; he couldn’t breath because a body much larger than his own was crushing him. In the chaos of sounds and smells a pair of kind, gray eyes swam to the forefront - they were crinkled with satisfaction.

A voice whispered in his skull: _‘You belong to me.’_

Strong arms grabbed his shoulders; he tried to pull away but it was no use, the chair behind his back blocked him while the arms held him tight.

“Let me go,” he whined in a weak tone.

There was a raspy laughter. _‘But you are mine, my desert flower.’_

“Bane…” Johan pleaded softly.

The arms shook him roughly and Johan startled.

“Joe!” a sharp tone snapped. Johan blinked slowly and found Bruce grabbing him roughly by the shoulders, his face an inch away from the boy’s.

“Hey, calm down, Bruce,” Johan said coarsely. His throat was all of the sudden parched as he asked, “What happened?”

“I think you blacked out,” Bruce said firmly. The green eyes were full of worry.

Johan shook his head a few times to drive away the fuzziness in his brain. Pushing Bruce’s hand off he stood up and walked to the fridge by the metal storage units; he needed water badly. He was halfway there when Bruce spoke loudly.

“I don’t think you heard me before so I’ll say it again - she told me what you did that night.”

The boy halted completely, facing away from Bruce. His hands were wringing themselves into fists. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension and Johan felt he had to breath a little harder to suck in the same amount of air. He kept his head facing the opposite direction of Bruce.

The ex-vigilante continued in a somber attitude.

“Selina said that you told her to leave. But she stayed. She saw everything and knows why Bane didn’t kill me.”

The boy was studying a crack in the far wall that he hadn’t ever noticed before now. But no matter how hard he tried there was no avoiding Bruce's voice. He listened to every single syllable the man uttered.

“I’m alive because of you, Joe,” Bruce declared and his voice faltered a bit, breaking when he said the boy’s name. “You saved my life.”

Teeth bit down so hard on Johan’s lips that he drew blood.

_I’m not ready to have this conversation_ , he thought. _I never wanted to talk about this with anyone – even the man I saved._

“You gave yourself to Bane…for me.” Bruce’s voice was unsteady. “Were you with him the entire time?”

The boy’s eyes found a chip in the cement wall by the storage units. “Yeah.”

“Did you…” the man said tentatively. “Or, I mean, did he…?”

The boy bent his head down low, his knuckles white from squeezing his hands. “You mean did he _fuck_ me?”

“You can tell me, Joe.”

“What do you think? Take an educated guess.”

“I assumed the worst.”

Johan’s eyes darkened. _There’s a lot worse in this world then taking Bane’s dick up my ass._

“And what if he did fuck me?” the boy asked. “Would you feel bad for me?”

The man shook his head. “I wouldn’t, because I know you would resent that.” He took a step forward. “But I would owe you more than I could ever repay.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Johan said shakily and turned to Bruce, the boy’s face red. “Just forget it. I did what I did and that’s that. You saved Gotham. Me having to fuck Bane was worth ten million people being saved.”

Bruce’s eyes looked sad then, his shoulders slumped. “Did he hurt you?”

“The city’s fine. That’s all that matters,” the boy said. _That’s all that matters…_

“No, Joe,” the man told him with a steely glare. There was still a large distance between them in the chamber. “ _You_ are what matters. So tell me, did he _hurt_ you?”

Johan messily scratched the back of his hair to vent some excess energy, and if he admitted it to himself, excess anger, too.

_Bruce has been alive this whole time,_ the boy thought harshly, _and still he didn’t even send a message to ask how I was doing? After he knew the gist of what I went through for him? Great ex-boyfriend he is._

“What do you think, Bruce?” he said loudly. “You’ve fought the guy – is he the _gentle_ type? Yes, he hurt me, but it’s okay. I healed. I’m not some emotionally scarred kid that you need to worry about.”

Bruce took another step towards Johan. “Your blackout a minute ago says otherwise.”

“Just let me sort through it on my own. Give me some time.”

“It’s been six months.”

“Then give me _more_ time, Bruce. For fuck’s sake, you’re a bit late to be asking about this now. You could have come back earlier if you really cared.”

“I didn’t know, Joe. Not until recently. I would have come to Gotham earlier if I had.”

The boy paused at that statement. _Bruce didn’t know? This whole time?_

“When did Selina tell you?” Johan questioned. The voice that came out of his mouth was hollow and toneless; it didn’t sound like him at all.

“Just a week ago. Right before everything happened with Ra’s and Dr. Saunders.”

“What the hell took her so long? You have a forgetful girlfriend, Bruce.”

“I don’t think she wanted to tell me.”

“Why?” The boy’s eyebrows were raised.

“Because I thought you’d moved on. I had no idea you were in Gotham before I was taken to that Moroccan prison.”

“I know. I didn’t contact you that week, in case you didn’t want Shadow back in Gotham.”

Bruce shook his head. “I’ll always want you with me.”

“And that’s why you ran off with _her_ to start your new life,” Johan said dryly.

Bruce nodded. “She’s a smart woman. Selina knows that I care about her.”

“That’s nice. Good for you guys. I hope the best for you two.”

“Don’t you get what I’m saying, Joe?” Bruce sighed.

“I get it just fine,” Johan replied bitterly. “You came here to check on me. Now that you see I’m fine you can leave and go back to Selina.”

The man shook his head. “I care about _her_ ,” Bruce said. His eyes were studying the boy. “But I love _you_.”

The last declaration almost didn’t register. For a man like Bruce to state something so frankly, especially in the emotional department, was rare. In fact, Johan couldn’t remember Bruce ever stating something of this kind to the boy. Sure, the man had said he cared for him, but never _this_.

Johan’s eyes widened. _Love…? He said love. He’s never said that to me before. Even when we were together…_

The boy didn’t say anything in return. This was undiscovered territory.

Shoes squeaked on the floor of the chamber as Bruce approached the boy. Johan felt hands tentatively perch on his waist, not too much pressure but just enough. After Bane, gentle touches on his body seemed foreign. The boy was still facing away from the man.

Bruce’s breath ghosted over the tiny hairs on Johan’s neck as he spoke. “Joe…” he began quietly. “If Selina had told me sooner what you did, that you gave your life to save mine, I would have taken you with me instead of her.”

The boy took a deep breath, his head still bent down. When he spoke his voice was meek. “You never loved me, even when we were together. Rachel was the only person you made room for.”

The hands around Johan’s waist gripped tighter. “I was wrong. My grief blinded me to how I truly felt about you. I didn’t blame you after you left because you were right, I didn’t want to get better. I wanted to wallow in my shame and regret. Only after you left did I realize what you really meant to me. I…” his voice trembled before he finished with, “I think that Rachel would want me to move on.” The man released a heavy breath. “I want to be with you, Joe.”

The boy slowly turned around to look into Bruce’s face: his eyes were misty and there was regret etched into every line of the handsome face. Johan put his arms around the man’s muscular frame and pulled him close, resting his head on the man’s chest.

Johan asked a question, his voice muffled against the man’s sturdy frame. “What about Selina?”

“I care for her deeply,” Bruce sighed. He stroked a soothing hand through Johan’s hair. “She’s been thoughtful of me these past few months abroad. But she knows I don’t love her. Being with you now, Joe, and knowing what you did for me…” Bruce paused and cupped his palm around Johan’s chin, lifting up the boy’s face to look into the gold eyes. “I want you.”

The boy looked at Bruce and his lower abdomen stirred from the man’s eager gaze.

“You’re taken, Bruce,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right…”

Bruce put his mouth against Johan’s ear. “Please, Joe. I need this.”

_After everything thing that’s happened_ , Johan thought desperately, _I need this, too. I want to feel Bruce again…_

Johan nodded. “Okay.”

He wasn’t sure who moved first but their lips were soon crashing down together, tongues moving hungrily around each other, exploring and desperate. The boy moaned and Bruce lifted the boy up by the hips so Johan could wrap his legs around Bruce’s waist. Hands curled around Bruce’s neck as Johan solely focused on the sensations of the body before him. Any thought was swept out of his mind as he felt Bruce suck on his lips while his bucking hips slid their growing erections together.

Carrying Johan’s smaller form still wrapped around him, Bruce set Johan’s behind on the metal counter and started sliding the skin-tight suit off of Johan’s body. The boy hummed in approval and slipped his arms out while Bruce pulled the suit down the boy’s trim waist, hips and legs. The man started kneading his big hands into Johan’s naked thighs while the boy sighed in contentment. He continued kissing Bruce while his nimble hands unzipped the man’s hoodie. No formal wear today; the thought-to-be-deceased billionaire was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans along with sneakers that were already strewn on the floor a few feet away.

Johan’s length was pushed against his spandex undergarments and he jerked up as a large hand stroked it teasingly, just soft enough to make the boy whine. Bruce chuckled and removed his unbuttoned shirt while he hastily stepped out of the loose jeans. The man had on boxers and he drug down those as well to reveal his member bobbing at attention. Johan impatiently shoved down his boxers right before Bruce grasped both their lengths in one hand. Both of their dicks slid roughly in Bruce’s grasp; they hadn’t slicked their members but it still felt glorious.

The boy flinched suddenly when he felt the man’s fingers probing his entrance. Bruce noticed and stilled his hand.

“Too soon?” the man prodded.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just…” the boy breathed against the man’s warm skin. “Not yet.”

Bruce nodded and went back to stroking their lengths with his sturdy hand.

Neither of them lasted long. Soon they were heaving tiredly, semen speckled on their chests and thighs. Johan was still sitting on the counter and leaning his body into Bruce; the man in turn had his arms wrapped around the boy with his chin resting on the chestnut hair.

“Bruce,” Johan croaked in a rough voice; his throat felt like sandpaper. He had forgotten to get the water.

The man must have noticed because Johan felt the absence of his body heat for a moment before he returned holding a bottle of cold water. Grunting in appreciation the boy grabbed it, unscrewed the cap, and greedily gulped down half of it in one go. He offered the rest to Bruce but the man declined; Johan shrugged his shoulders and finished off the bottle. Turning to throw it out he glanced at the computer: half past midnight.

“I need to get going,” he announced and strode to where he had thrown his suit in a hurry. “Gordon is waiting for my call.”

Bruce’s forehead wrinkled. “Gordon? Why?”

“I’m living with him now. Didn’t you know?”

“No actually,” he said in surprise. “I knew you’d come down here eventually so I didn’t bother tracking you down.”

Johan saw a glint of suspicion from the man. “Don’t worry, Bruce, there’s nothing going on. Gordon’s like a mentor to me. After the Occupation he asked me to move in so we could work on cases easier. It’s been good so far.”

Bruce nodded slowly and reached for his own messily placed clothes. “So you need to call him?”

The stealth suit was already half way on and the boy was working on getting his arms through the form-fitting material. He decided to give Bruce the short version of the story. “Before Ra’s tried to kill me he told me his plan: he wants to kill corrupt officials in the city and asked for my help. Kind of like a hired assassin, I think. I said ‘no’ and he told me that Commissioner Gordon is on his hit list. I told Gordon to go to police headquarters and wait for me to contact him.”

His shirt was halfway buttoned when Bruce paused. “Good idea, it’s likely that Ra’s has League members with him to carryout his plan. Gordon should be safe there for now.” He continued buttoning the shirt. “Are you sure Ra’s doesn’t want to destroy the entire city?”

“Not anymore apparently, or so he said. He didn’t say why, only that he changed his mind for this new method of action.”

“I should have figured he’d have told you some part of his scheme,” Bruce said. “Ra’s has a God complex, thinks of himself as a deity among men. He can’t help but tout his own beliefs to those who’ll listen.”

“Bruce,” Johan mused curiously, “do you think he really was immortal? He survived that train crash after all.”

There was an amused grunt as Bruce zipped up his jeans. “He can’t be immortal if you killed him.”

“Oh yeah,” Johan said lamely. “Guess that mystery is settled. I called Detective Bullock before getting here. He should be at the scene now with Ra’s body.”

They were done dressing and Johan stared at Bruce while the man tied his sneakers; the brunette hair fell softly over his forehead.

“Damn it,” Johan spoke quietly. He was staring at his steady hands. “With Marie gone I’m going to have to find a way to get the serum. That vial was my last one…”

Bruce knotted one shoe and then moved to the other. “Go look in the fridge,” he suggested.

_Huh?_ Johan wondered as followed the man’s directions. _The fridge? There’s nothing in there but the bottled water._

After striding over Johan pulled on the heavy door. His eyes widened in disbelief.

Sitting on a wide shelf were stacks upon stacks of serum vials. Reaching out a steady hand Johan plucked one up for examination: it was the same cloudy white liquid of the nanomachine stabilizers. He had never seen so much of the serum at one time. Whenever Dr. Saunders had managed to give him extra serum, it was barely a large amount, usually only one or two vials. Having this much serum in his possession was the greatest gift Johan could ever ask for: the gift of life. Literally. Without the serum he’d have been dead long ago like the other experiment subjects.

“Bruce…” Johan trailed off. He was overcome with gratefulness.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Bruce stated.

Johan was still in disbelief. “How did you manage this?”

“I was able to secure the chemical formula of the serum from Dr. Saunders’ lab after her death,” the man explained as he zipped up his hoodie. “Wayne Enterprises has a satellite lab in London. Lucius guided the technicians via satellite to synthesize the serum in mass quantity. I wanted to personally being these to you. What with the need for a low temperature and minimal jarring to stay viable, I thought it was best to do transport the serum myself.”

The door of the fridge swung closed and Johan gave the man a wide smile; Bruce grinned back.

“I’m set for years at this rate,” Johan calculated. Even with the sudden rate of decay that the nanomachines were displaying, the number of vials in the fridge was enough for at least five years, maybe more.

“I knew that with Ra’s including Dr. Saunders in his destructive plan he was going to target you. I had to do something to help, Joe.”

_Bruce returned to Gotham for me_ , Johan realized. _He’s saved my life giving me the serum_.

As much as Johan wished he could stay and talk to the man he still had business to take care of. He strode to the rising platform that was still sunk in the ground.

“I’m going after Bane,” he informed Bruce. He picked up his mask that had been crumpled on the floor. “He has to know more details about what Ra's has in store for Gotham.”

“Do you know where he is?”

The boy shook his head. “Not really, but I have a few ideas.”

“You’re going to need backup.”

Johan turned to Bruce. The man looked healthy, but it was clear he hadn’t trained since leaving Gotham for good. The ex-vigilante had already done his job for this round, which was delivering the serum. Going up against Bane was not part of his agenda tonight: Johan would make sure of that. The boy glanced behind Bruce to the Bat-Computer.

The boy shook his head ‘ _no’_. “I’m going to need you giving me real time information if I need it. I may be able to get details out of Bane concerning how many helpers Ra’s has in the city doing his dirty work. In that case you can help lead me to them."

“You shouldn’t underestimate him, Joe.” Bruce had a shadowy gaze in his eyes that spoke of pain and regret. “I did once, and look at what happened.”

“Don’t worry, Bruce. I have a feeling Bane won’t give me any trouble.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

_‘He is being punished for his infractions’,_ Johan recalled inwardly.

“I have a feeling he’s a little, uh, worse for wear,” Johan said.

“What makes you think that?”

“Something Ra’s said.”

The man huffed out a breath. “Joe, I told you, you can’t-,”

“I know, I know,” Johan placated and held up his palms. “I can’t trust what’s Ra’s says. I remember. But let’s face the facts, Bruce. You’re in no shape to help me. I’ll be fine. The serum worked wonders. Let me do this on my own.”

“You two have a history…”

“Exactly, Bruce. It’s _history_. Bane can’t control me anymore _now_.”

The man stared at him a few moments then nodded reluctantly. “You’ll contact me if you need support.”

“Of course,” Johan replied. “Just like old times, right?”

Bruce smiled slowly as the boy pulled on the mask and walked to the platform. Johan stopped and craned his neck behind him.

_I feel like I’m missing something_ , he mused. The gold eyes caught the glint of light on metal; the key he had taken from Ra’s body was still sitting on the counter by the computer.

“Bruce, can you throw me that key?”

The man wrinkled his eyebrows in question but said nothing. He grabbed the key and flung it into Johan’s awaiting hand; he pocketed it and walked to the platform that quickly started to rise. Bruce sat down in the chair and pivoted it towards the monstrous screen of the Bat-Computer. He began typing away at the keyboard. It was a welcome sight for Johan to see Bruce doing what he always did best in one way or another: fighting against crime.

The platform had risen halfway when Johan called out, “Hey, Bats!”

Bruce swiveling quickly towards the boy as a fond expression flashed across the man’s face; his eyebrows rose expectantly.

“I probably should have said this first thing,” Johan said and placed his hands on his hips while he tilted his head playfully to the side. “But I’m glad you’re not dead.”

_Really glad_ , Johan repeated internally.

Johan heard the chuckle as Bruce was almost out of view from the ascending platform. “Be safe out there, Shadow.”

The boy grinned. “Always am,” he replied loudly.

Bruce and the underground cave were sealed away and the platform thudded in place.

Johan took a breath and exhaled it strongly.

_Time for us to meet for real, Bane._


	10. Chapter 10

_5 months previous, March_

Another two and a half months gone and still the boy hadn’t escaped. He was months overdue on his serum and some days he had trouble just walking from bed to the bathroom or living area. Bane was coming back to the hotel room less and less, meaning Johan had time by himself to run through plans in his mind about how to help Gotham. What he knew so far was this: there was a bomb in Gotham that was going to go off...

The end. He didn’t know when the detonation was going to happen or where the League of Shadows was keeping the bomb. Even if Johan knew the location of the fusion reactor project he couldn’t be sure if Bane and Talia would have kept the newly armed atom bomb in the same location.

He also didn’t know if he would be able to do anything to stop it. The nanomachines had gotten to the point where they were canceling out their own positive effects on Johan’s body. If someone were to look at him they would think he had a form of Parkinson's disease.

_I shouldn’t have waited so long to escape_ , the boy thought with frustration. _But by the time I knew the League was planning on blowing up Gotham my nanos were already giving me trouble._

Yesterday, against habit, Bane barely left their suite. He stayed in the room and had sex with Johan in the morning and late afternoon. After that one time when Bane brought Johan to orgasm after saving Barsad, Bane never did it again.

_Guess it was a one time thing_ , the boy mused.

In the evening the masked man knocked for Barsad to open the door. Bane exited the room and came back thirty minutes later. Johan assumed the man had eaten while gone. When the man returned he paced impatiently in the room the better part of an hour before stripping his clothes off and heaving his body into the bed. Johan continued reading for a few minutes until Bane told him to turn off the light and come to bed. Johan obeyed, slipped between the covers, and waited for Bane to make a move; the man simply tossed and turned on his side of the mattress, never straying his hands to the boy.

When Johan woke the next morning, Bane was already perched in his usual chair; his eyes were heavy with deep purple bags underneath. Johan knew he hadn’t slept at all. They silently read the entire morning and early afternoon until now, when the boy was looking at the sweaty back and neck of the restless man. Something was obviously wrong, and not just because they hadn’t fucked yet. Bane was the definition of calm and composed, at least when he wasn’t angry over his commands being disobeyed. But now he seemed jittery and on edge.

Rays of diffused sunlight were beaming through the windows and Johan was sitting on the chaise next to the bookshelf, a blanket wrapped tightly around his legs and shoulders. Johan put down _The Grapes of Wrath_ on the side table gently. He coughed lightly.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you like this,” Johan noted.

Bane turned a page of _The Iliad_ with a thick finger. He replied with disinterest: “I do not know what you mean.”

Johan narrowed his eyes and studied the man _. Hmmm, let me see: no sleep, sweating, pulsations racing on his neck, and fidgeting with chills mixed in. Seems like the flu…_

The gold eyes locked on to the mask and the tubes. The boy knew for sure now, his suspicions of these past months solidified.

_It’s not flu. I’d say opiate withdrawal…_

And it made perfect sense. Bane was in peek physical condition. That is, as long as Johan forgot the deep scar on his back. To Johan’s observation Bane had never seemed to be in pain, a feat that should have been impossible with that kind of serious wound…

_Except for when I bashed my thick skull into his face and broke the tubing,_ Johan reasoned. _I knew back then the mask had to have some sort of mechanism for pain inhibition, but these withdrawal symptoms seal the deal._

The hissing gas spewing from the tubes of the mask that night must have been some sort of anesthetic, like nitrous oxide. Except the dilemma here was that Bane’s chemical cocktail didn’t seem to inhibit his visual or auditory senses. A strong anesthetic could cause euphoric feelings and make you feel slightly buzzed, not the best idea for going into combat. But Bane had been fast like a striking snake the night of their fight. To Johan it seemed that Bane was inhaling some sort of personally enhanced pain medication, like morphine, but without the bothersome side effects.

_I’ve never really heard of breathable morphine. I’m pretty sure it’d be incredibly hard to put into the compact form of the mask and have it last for hours,_ Johan thought. _But then again, I’m enhanced with nanomachines, so who am I to say what smart people can come up with?_

The boy watched as Bane continued reading. “Are you low on the medications that feed into your mask?”

Bane tightened the grip on his book and leaned forward in the chair. “I was wondering when you would inquire about my… _disadvantage_ ,” the man said and turned another page. “But I still have sufficient strength to overpower you if you try and kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Bane. I just want to get out of here.”

“Then your feelings for Mr. Wayne’s life have abated so quickly?” Bane questioned as he placed his book on the table, too. His eyes looked a tad dulled but still intelligent and predatory. “My threat against him if you defy me still stands.”

Johan pulled up the edges of the blanket that had fallen over his shoulders; the room was chilly. Bane had turned down the heat in their room to 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Johan looked to the man and could see why: his naked chest was glistening with sweat and he was fidgeting in the chair. The man was five feet to Johan’s right, a table with a reading lamp stood between them.

“I’m not going anywhere today,” Johan placated. “Just a little curious about your mask is all.”

“Revealing a weakness to an enemy would not be prudent,” the man stated.

“You wouldn’t _reveal_ anything – I already know that I have to break your mask before doing _you_ any actual damage. It’s not rocket science.”

Johan heard the man’s distorted laugh. “You are concerned for me, desert flower?”

“In a way, yes,” the boy told him. “Does that surprise you?”

Bane wheezed in deeply and broke eye contact to study Johan’s shaky hands and arms under the blanket.

“You suffer as well, Joseph,” Bane rasped and sat up straighter in the chair to smooth the wrinkles in his fatigue pants with large hands. “The synthetics for my mask were not ready today. It has been quite some time since I have gone without. Thus, my body is feeling the… _repercussions_.”

Johan hummed and took a moment to think.

_Should I tell him anything?_ He wondered. Johan glided his eyes over the man’s pitiful state; he felt sympathy for him. _Why not? I’ll make this quid pro quo._

Johan moved the blanket to hold up a quivering hand.

“I understand a bit,” the boy said slowly “My body is backfiring right now.”

Bane swiped some sweat off his neck. “Your tremors have indeed spread. But you are not reliant on any substance.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Johan countered and shook his head. “I’m as dependent as you, I just don’t need it as often.”

Bane clenched his fist in his lap. “Burdens like ours are needed to refine our character, my Joseph.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Guess we have a price to pay for our talents.”

“ ‘ _Price to pay_ ’…” Bane pondered with raised eyebrows. “We do not have to pay anything in return for our lives. We are worthy.”

_Not again with this bullshit,_ Johan sighed inwardly. _Maybe today he’ll be more receptive…_

The boy readied himself for a possible chastisement. “You and I are just as _worthy_ as any other person.”

“Is that so?” Bane replied calmly, his eyes focused. He didn’t seem to be in the violent mood today. “You see yourself the same as scum?”

“I don’t view humanity as scum. But yes, I do consider myself the same as anyone else, no better or worse.”

Bane huffed and rose, walking to the window. He opened it to let the chilly air into the already frosty room. “Only a fool views all people as deserving of life.”

“And only a self-absorbed egomaniac thinks he’s better than everyone,” Johan stated and shuddered from the chilly wind flowing in. “Just because you think you know what’s right doesn’t mean it’s really true.”

The gray eyes narrowed mildly in anger as Bane sat on the window nook.

“The League of Shadows is the only true path to cleanse the world of the corrupt,” the man stated assuredly.

Johan shook his head. “What confuses me is how you can actually think that. Your beliefs and ideas are no more valid than mine or anyone else’s. To think that your ideas alone are the absolute answer is strange. No one can actually _know_ that their ideas are right.”

Bane raised his eyebrows. “In that case, you do not think what _you_ believe is correct, Joseph. You think Gotham should be allowed to live and yet you say there can be no real truth in what a man thinks.” He put his hands on his knees and looked out the window at the park through the window. “You speak such grand statements that are self-defeating.”

“I’m not contradicting myself,” Johan said and uncovered his arms from under the blanket so he could grasp the armrests of the chair. “What I’m saying is that every person, you and me included, are entitled to believe what we want. The hard part is knowing that our ideas are no more important than other peoples’.”

The man raised a hand to his baldhead and stroked in contemplation. “If I believe I can kill a man, then why is it wrong to do so? You claim that all beliefs are of equal weight.”

“Let me try again,” the boy said in a mildly frustrated tone. “There is no _worthy_ or _unworthy._ All people and ideas are the same. No person is considered better and no one deserves to be oppressed for their beliefs.” The boy’s eyes darkened in anger. “Let alone murdered.”

“And yet, desert flower,” Bane said in a curious tone, “You arrest those with different agendas from you and your precious Batman. You have broken many bones in the name of your cause for justice. Your own crusade, Joseph, is an _oppression_ for those against you.”

Johan’s eyes were now glittering in defiance. “The criminals I bust have no regard for the lives of others. A person is entitled to believe what they want but it is never right to disregard the worth of others for your own cause.” The boy paused before speaking again. “Say a neo-Nazi wants to burn down the house of his Jewish neighbor. I have the right to arrest the guy because he’d be violating his neighbor through brutality. _These_ are kinds of criminals that Bruce and I fight. My job is to stop those who use force and violence against others. I try to stop injustice.”

“And what is this _injustice_ you speak of, if everyone can believe what he or she wishes?” Bane asked. “Every belief of humanity is correct based on your skewed moral code. You have abolished the concepts right and wrong, my Joseph.”

“As long as people do what they want without hurting each other, I’m fine with it,” Johan informed Bane calmly. “I only have a problem with people that don’t give a shit about hurting people for their own gain.”

“You and Mr. Wayne persecute the criminals of Gotham. I do not think you, ah, _‘give a shit’_ about the feelings of those you apprehend.”

“You think we _persecute_ people? I think it’s acceptable to stop someone who’s bent on exploiting the rights of others.”

“But then you are violating the rights of the man you are apprehending,” the masked man countered.

“A criminal who has no regard for people isn’t granted my respect,” Johan explained. He gave the man a stern glare. “But I won’t kill people that I apprehend – I only arrest them.”

“You think me a monster for my zeal toward executions, Joseph,” Bane said, his gray eyes sparkling. “But we are much alike.”

Johan returned the gaze. “We aren't.”

“We are. Each of us is certain that our cause is right one.” He wheezed out a breath. “And we will both die in its defense.”

Bane was silent for a period and Johan said nothing else. The man’s body was still dripping with sweat, oblivious to the frigid temperature in the room. Johan’s body, though, was not oblivious and was shaking more because of the cold. He replaced the blanket over his upper body and buried his neck inside the warmth of his encapsulated body heat.

The man finally spoke.

“You are sure you are correct, Joseph,” Bane said slowly. “You tell me I am wrong for what I am doing. But you cannot be sure if you are right in your own beliefs.”

“I’m not saying your belief is wrong, Bane. What’s wrong is the fact that you’re killing people because of it.”

Bane blinked. “That still does not mean you are right.”

“Now you see my point,” Johan sighed. “I don’t know if I’m right at all. I don’t think _anyone_ really can be. That includes you and me – there is no certainty.”

Johan shrugged his shoulders and looked at the carpet by the bed on the far side of the living area. He studied it closely and could make out the bloodstains; it was _his_ blood from when Talia had beaten him while he was on the ground.

_I may be wrong,_ he thought inwardly, _but I could never believe that using force again those who don’t agree with you is right._

“To me it just seems impossible to prove what is actually the right thing to do or believe,” the boy continued. “The respectful thing to do is assume that everyone’s beliefs have value. If you think you alone are right, then you’re disregarding the worth of others.”

Bane scratched his sweaty neck. “I do not see it that way.”

“That’s fine,” Johan responded. “You have the right to disagree with me.”

“Ah, yes. According to you I can believe something different from you,” he said with a gleam. “However, I cannot use my hand to make you submit to me, or...” The man paused and traced a finger over the frosty glass of the window. “Or to kill you, I suppose.”

Johan responded dryly, “Now you’re getting it.”

Bane’s eyes crinkled. “It seems I am making progress.”

“No,” Johan said quickly. “ _Progress_ would be if you decided not to blow up Gotham.”

“I am regretful to inform you that I cannot deviate from our plan.”

Bane rose off the padded bench and went to the bathroom. The sink sputtered to life and Johan saw Bane grab a towel from the shelf. A few moments later he emerged with the wet cloth; he wiped it over the back of his neck. “Your effort to reason with me is noble but, like your other attempts, it is misguided.”

The boy’s eyes hardened. “I knew from the beginning that you weren’t a man I could persuade. You can only change your own opinions by thinking what _you_ believe in isn’t right.”

“I know I am right,” Bane wheezed.

_Once again_ , Johan thought, _I am not surprised by his stubbornness. I think Bane could even best Bruce if they both had a contest for being headstrong_.

The man finished scrubbing the wet towel over his chest and arms. “The substance you rely on for your tremors. Where is it?”

“Someplace safe,” Johan told him.

“I could retrieve it for you. You are unwell.”

_And lead him under the docks to the Batcave?_ Johan thought sarcastically. _I can’t imagine what Bane could do if he got his hands on the Bat-Computer._

Johan responded in a calm tone. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

"Some days you cannot leave the bed."

The boy smiled bitterly. "I didn't think that part bothered you."

Bane hummed and studied the boy closely. "Will you survive without it?"

"Probably not," Johan replied and bit his bottom lip as he pondered the thought. The only reason he had lasted this long was because Dr. Saunders had been able to supply him with the serum. Without its stabilizing effects he would slowly decline until his body shut down.

"You deserve a better fate," the man stated softly.

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "I've come to terms with it."

The large man strode back to his chair by the boy and slowly sat down. His gray eyes traced over Johan's face. "Tell me where this substance is."

"No."

"Joseph," the man said sternly.

"No."

"You will die without it."

Johan narrowed his gaze angrily. "And I'd still die _with_ it. You're going to detonate a fucking bomb that will kill us all anyway, remember?"

Bane blinked. "I do _remember_ ," he said dryly.

"Then stop trying to be..." the boy trailed as he tried to think of the word, "... _nice_ to me. Or whatever it is that you're doing. You don't get to play at goodness or kindness when your plan is to kill an entire city. I don't buy it."

The man still had the moistened towel and was wiping it down his bulky arms. He took his time soaking up the sweat that was seeping through his skin. Johan watched quietly as the towel trailed a path up and down, up and down, up and down.

"I have made a promise, Joseph," the man said.

"I don't care," the boy stated. "You made a promise that will murder innocent lives. That kind of a promise needs to be broken."

"I cannot do that."

"Then stop asking me where the substance is. I won't tell you." Johan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

The man inclined his head. “As you wish, Joseph.”

A few silent minutes passed. Johan had his eyes closed and was resting his chin on a shaky hand trying to rest. But the room was so quiet that all Johan could hear was Bane's labored breaths. They were growing more and more ragged. The boy cleared his throat and looked to the man.

“So, um…” Johan hesitated as Bane stroked the towel against the smooth skin of his head, waiting for the boy to resume. “What about your medicine - the anesthetic gas? That’s what it is right?”

“Indeed. You continue to show your acuity, my flower,” Bane said with crinkled eyes.

Johan’s blushed. “Um, thanks. But is it going to be here soon? You’re definitely…uncomfortable.”

_Uncomfortable – that’s an understatement_ , Johan thought. _He’s sweating buckets._

Bane got up and walked to the hamper and threw in the soiled towel. “Barsad assures me it will be ready soon.”

“That’s good. Does Barsad make it for you?”

“He does not. A man in the city specializes in manufacturing aerosol concoctions.”

“Dr. Crane?”

The man nodded. “The very same. He will be punished for the delay.”

_I wouldn’t want to be Crane right now_ , Johan thought.

Johan watched as the man returned to his chair. Bane groaned quietly as he sunk into his plush seat and closed his eyes. The boy watched and saw that each of the man’s hands was placed on a knee.

“Are you in pain, Bane?”

“Yes, my flower,” the man wheezed.

After chewing his lip for a moment, Johan reached out from under the warm blanket and lightly covered the large hand that was closest. The man instantly used his free hand grabbed Johan’s in a painful grasp.

“What are you doing?” Bane asked in a growl, his large hand tightening.

Johan’s face was calm in spite of his small hand being crushed. “Nothing. My mother used to hold my hand like this when I was hurt.”

Bane studied Johan’s face and slowly lessened his grip before removing the hand, placing it back on his other knee. Bane relaxed and closed his eyes once more. Johan continued to keep his own hand on top of the large, callused hand he originally grasped. The man allowed it.

“Your mother is no longer alive,” Bane said simply.

The boy shook his head. “She died a long time ago.”

“And father?”

“He’s also gone.”

“Some type of sickness?”

“No. They were both shot.”

The gray eyes focused on the boy. “Did your father teach you to fight?”

“Not him. He was a peaceful man. At least, that’s what I can remember.”

Johan was about to take off his hand when Bane said, “Sit with me, Joseph. You are cold.”

The man gestured to his lap and the boy sat up and stepped over to Bane’s chair, settling himself across the man’s thighs. A large hand held the boy’s head to the naked chest as Bane wrapped the blanket over Johan’s shoulders and let it drape down over both their bodies. Johan felt warmer already. Underneath the blanket Bane’s other hand held Johan’s trembling fists in a gentle hold; they stilled somewhat.

“Did you see them die?” Bane asked. His chest rumbled as he spoke and Johan could feel the vibrations against his cheek.

Johan shook his head. “I didn’t. But I saw their bodies soon after.”

Bane hummed. “One such as you must see death of a loved one early. That is how you learn to fight. The darkness of your loss consumes you. It is necessary evil for a worthy soldier.”

_A ‘necessary evil’_ , Johan mused. _My body is ruined with shaking, but I suffer it to help others. I am alive, but so many innocent have died because of me…_

“You mentioned my soul once, after the night with Talia.” Johan stated.

Bane remained silent, his thick thumb rubbing circles over Johan’s shaking hands.

“That’s why I don’t want people to die, Bane. I’ve taken so many lives that I’ve lost too much of my soul already. Sometimes I barely feel human anymore.”

“You are young to have killed a great many people,” the man said.

“But I have. I’ve seen so much death…”

“I know you are speaking the truth, Joseph.”

Johan looked up at the man. Bane tilted his head down to meet the gaze.

“How do you know?” the boy prodded. “Do I talk when I sleep?”

“No,” Bane said and ran a hand through the boy’s hair. “Your eyes. They speak of death caused by your own hands.”

Johan stared at Bane. “So do yours.”

“Do they?” Bane inquired softly, his finger smoothly gliding over the boy’s lips.

“They do. And I know it’s because of Talia.”

"She is a worthy leader."

"She's insane, Bane."

Johan regretted the words immediately after they left his mouth.

_Whoops_.

The man froze for a moment before abruptly standing up. Johan fell clumsily to his knees on the ground as Bane strode to the door.

_Shit_ , Johan thought as he quickly got up from the carpet.

“Bane, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he urged the man. Bane kept walking.

“This is enough chatting for one afternoon, Joseph,” Bane snapped over his shoulder and tapped on the door. Barsad opened it wordlessly and Bane slipped out before it closed again.

_Shit, shit, shit!_ Johan cursed internally. _Rule number one of talking to Bane: don’t insult the woman he has an obsessive oath to protect. To do so will lead to awkward conversation endings._

Johan huffed in frustration and returned to his chair to read. Bane never came back.

That was two days ago.

It was nighttime and the room felt too stuffy for Johan’s liking. He had cracked the windows facing the park to let in some fresh air. His torso was bare and he was only wearing his boxers in bed; the thin bottom sheet was tangled around his legs, leaving his upper body exposed. Wind outside was rushing by quickly and howling through the slit in the open windowpane. The boy was alone, the entire bed to himself while he stared at the ceiling. The masked man hadn’t returned to their room in forty-eight hours. The boy’s hands, arms, and chest were racked with a tremble that never ceased, causing incessant spasms of pain that Johan had learned to block out. Mostly, that is.

_It's getting harder to ignore the pain,_ Johan knew. But to his surprise, today the nanomachines had been holding up for the most part. The boy had been able to leave the bedroom and make himself lunch and dinner in the suite's kitchen. _  
_

He once again thought about an escape and what would happen if he actually went through with it. Johan truly realized the depth of the hole he had dug himself into. There were a few cops of the GCPD left (it would have been impossible to trap _all_ of them underground) that had mostly likely formed some sort of resistance to Bane’s occupation. Because he had been off the scene for so long, if Johan were to escape it would be suspicious that he found them to help out.

_Hey, everyone!_ Johan thought dryly as he ran the situation in his mind. _My name is Joe and my alter ego is Shadow, the masked vigilante – I’m here to help! Don’t mind that I’ve been absent for the past five months of Bane’s terror. You can trust me!_

He’d be lucky not to be shot on the spot. It must be hard enough trusting people out there; anyone could be an informant for Bane and the League of Shadows. And he couldn’t blame any remaining cops for being so suspicious of strangers – any unfamiliar face was a threat, pure and simple. Johan hoped that whatever resistance movement existed that there was someone competent was leading it. Hopefully Gordon had recovered from his bout in the hospital; he’d be the perfect leader for the remaining police force. As of now the boy was biding his time, waiting to see if Bruce could pull off a miracle and escape the Pit.

Speaking of Bruce, the man was getting better. Using the tablet, Johan watched the man’s progress each day. Bruce was able to walk normally now and he was out of view of the camera for most of the day. It took Johan a few weeks to notice that Bruce’s muscles were slowly regaining their size and definition from before his fight with Bane.

_He must be training outside the room,_ Johan understood. _Bruce would have seen that camera the first day. The man is smart enough to not train where Bane could keep a watchful eye._

The only setback had been the day Johan had turned on the tablet to see Bruce laying in bed on the thin cot in his room, a grimace of pain covering his face. It was just like the first day Johan had seen the grainy footage of him after the sewer incident. The boy had kept the video feed running all day until he saw the familiar prisoner (the older man who answered Bane’s phone call) pull up Bruce’s shirt to reveal a nasty bruise that stretched across his back around the waist; it looked like something had been tied around him and jerked with enough force to cause a lot of damage.

_What the hell was he doing?_ Johan wondered. _Playing tug-of-war with the biggest guy there while the rope was tied around his waist?_

But that day been a month ago and was the only hiccup Johan was aware of. Bane had often chuckled when he saw the boy watching the video feed but he never said anything about it. The masked man was not worried about Bruce escaping, no matter how much progress the vigilante was making. As far as Johan could tell, Bane had more important things to be concerned about.

_Whatever Talia is planning with the bomb,_ Johan figured _, it must be happening soon since Bane has been absent lately. I’m glad that bitch hasn’t come back though. One visit of torture is enough for me._

The boy turned from side to side in the bed before giving up on sleep – he had too many things running through his mind. He scrubbed his hand over his face and reached to the bedside table for the tablet.

_Maybe Bruce will be in the cell this time_ , he figured. Yesterday he hadn’t seen the man. As the video feed was loading, Johan thought again to he and Bruce’s early days.

_Once again, the boy found himself chasing down a bad guy in an alleyway. This time it was a breakout from Arkham Asylum, Dr. Jonathan Crane._

_The Scarecrow shot and Johan dodged by ducking to the side. Again the criminal pulled the trigger and Johan jumped out the way and kicked the man in the head. The Scarecrow went down with a sissy whine._

_“I’ll take this, Dr. Crane,” Johan said as he took the gun from the Scarecrow’s hand, dislodged the magazine, and emptied the bullet in the chamber. He tossed the unloaded Glock 22 into a nearby dumpster._

_The skinny man beneath him squirmed while Johan kept a firm hold on his wrists while one knee was planted on the man’s chest._

_“You little punk!” the man squealed inside his misshapen straw mask. “I’ll kill you for this!”_

_The boy tilted his head, staring at the stitched up mouth and tattered eyeholes of the Scarecrow’s costume. Crane may not be frightening a crow or sparrow anytime in the near future, but the boy had to admit the mask sure was creepy. Johan smirked beneath his own mask._

_“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Doc.”_

_Johan could hear the screams of Crane’s men from a few blocks down._

_Batman’s got them taken care of, Johan knew._

_Three months had passed since the little agreement-by-melee in the alley. Since then things had been going smoothly. Most of the time Johan took down his own criminals apart from Batman. During the instances where their crime fighting crossed paths (like tonight) they worked in tandem to take down everyone on the scene, each of them leaving before the police arrived without saying a word to the other vigilante. Johan didn’t mind the lack of conversation; he wasn’t looking for camaraderie or Batman’s approval. The boy was in Gotham to fulfill his own pledge. Besides, someone like the Batman was probably working through his own issues. Johan wasn’t sure if he even wanted to get close to the guy and open that can of worms. And anyway, the man had never called his frequency once._

_The screaming from close by abruptly stopped as one of Scarecrow’s lackeys’ gave out a quick screech of pain before silence reigned._

_Johan tightened his hands around the man’s wrists. “You should have stayed in Arkham, Crane.”_

_“And disappoint my paying customers?” the man asked as his eyes through the mask holes darted around frantically. “I don’t think so.”_

_“Your drugs are old news. The mobs are pushing new products now.”_

_Crane’s eyes shined with rage. “My product is the best.”_

_“I wouldn’t know,” Johan replied and dug into a pocket to grab plastic cuffs. “I don’t take drugs. They’re bad for you. You of all people should know that, Doc.”_

_“Pity then,” the Scarecrow spat. “The first time is always the most potent.”_

_Johan paused. That’s when he heard the hissing. The boy’s eyes widened in alarm as gas flew into the warm air from vents in the man’s disguise._

_Shit! Johan thought. He didn’t press the mask! How is the gas escaping?_

_The boy held his breath, but it was too late – he had already inhaled a small gulp of air._

_“What the hell…” the boy said sluggishly when he looked at the man’s hands. They were still captured in Johan’s grip but the man’s thumb was flush against his pointer finger, pressing against the metal ring encircling the man’s digit._

_A trigger for the gas…Johan realized, his thoughts becoming jumbled._

_The man started wiggling out of his grasp and Johan tried to hold on but his muscles were weakening and his breathing became shallower. The Scarecrow stood up and kicked Johan in the side, causing the boy to stumble over and half-lay on the ground. Johan shook his head to clear his swirling view; he normally had perfect eyesight but now he had a kind of fuzzy glow in the edges of his vision. He peered up to see the Scarecrow bending down to stare at him in curiosity._

_“Interesting,” the man mumbled and tapped a finger on the mouth of the straw mask. He bent down closer and Johan could smell his stale breath. “Are you afraid?”_

_“Of what?” Johan croaked dizzily. He couldn’t keep his balance and kept swaying around, his arms clutching the street for purchase._

_The Scarecrow studied him closely. “Do you see anything?”_

_“Only you, Crane,” the boy said weakly, rubbing his eyes through the mask. “What the hell is in that gas?”_

_“This is a new phenomenon,” the man purred. “The first dose did not affect you.” The man’s eye sockets in the mask looked like black swirling voids. “Let’s try again.”_

_Scarecrow laid a hand on Johan’s head and ripped off the stealth mask, the night air cold on the boy’s sweating face. His finger touched the ring-device again and another cloud of gas erupted from the criminal’s mask. Johan didn’t even try to hold his breath this time and inhaled a large amount of the mysterious toxin. Instantly his vision became blurrier and he was disoriented, not knowing which way was the sky and where the street was._

_“What’s…going…. on?” he mumbled as his arms failed him. His upper body fell to the ground._

_Dark colors collided against bright ones in his vision. As he turned his head the visual images of the bricks in the wall and dumpster in the alley lagged behind, forming bleary trails of color that mixed into sights of trash and broken bottles littered on the ground. It was then he saw a black figure come into view not too far away. It grew closer, but Johan was not afraid, only interested. The shape grew closer._

_“Back away from him, Crane,” the deep growl demanded. The dark shape touched Johan’s face and the boy moaned, not able to form words. It took too much effort for the boy to speak._

_Johan heard the other voice. “Your little friend seems immune to my fear gas, Bats.”_

_The boy’s head rolled limply back and forth as the black shape shook him._

_Johan groaned. “S-stop…head hurts…”_

_The deep voice rumbled again. “He doesn’t look immune to me.”_

_“The boy is obviously disoriented,” the Scarecrow said impatiently. “But he shows none of the classic signs of terror and panic.”_

_“Good to know,” the dark figure said as Johan felt the touch leave him. “Time to go back to Arkham, Crane.”_

_“Of course, Batman. Hopefully the boy is still with you when I get out again. He…intrigues me.”_

_The boy passed out to the guttural howls of pain as he saw the dark shape engulf the Scarecrow in blackness._

_When he awoke there was bright light everywhere. The pupils inside his gold eyes constricted and Johan groaned. His head was pounding with every beat of his heart while is mouth was parched._

_Feels like a hangover, Johan remarked inwardly._

_“Oh good,” an unfamiliar voice intoned pleasantly. “Awake already.”_

_The boy sat up and waited until his eyes adjusted. He was on top of a thin mattress placed on a wheeled examination table by a wall. The stealth suit was folded neatly on a table by the gurney and he had been changed into a light cotton shirt with sweatpants. Fluorescent lights shined down to reveal a large windowless room. The walls and floor were made of smooth concrete._

_Is this underground? The boy wondered. The light was eventually tolerable and Johan saw an older man standing in front of him. He was holding out a glass of water._

_“Thanks,” Johan said and took the offered glass. He began drinking the cool liquid slowly._

_“Without your nanomachines you’d be dead, young man,” the gentleman said. Johan coughed out of surprise, some water escaping his mouth and dribbling messily down his chin. The boy looked up and saw a knowing smile on the man’s face._

_That was when the boy noticed the gauze and tape on the back of his hand._

_This guy took a blood sample, he realized. But you need specialized equipment to detect the tiny nanorobotics…_

_Johan wiped his chin dry and glanced around some more. He saw a state-of-the-art computer system backed up against the far wall of the concrete chamber. It was huge, with one large screen in the center bordered by smaller secondary screens. A muscular man with brunette hair was sitting at a chair in front of the computer, typing furiously and causing lines of code and data to rapidly pop up on numerous screens. The man seemed to be ignoring the proceedings between Johan and the older man. The boy was confused._

_Where’s Batman. He wondered. Is this his lab of some kind?_

_The gentleman was still looking at him in a friendly manner. He was older, probably pushing upper sixties, dark skin, and wearing a respectable suit._

_He can’t be Batman. He’s too old, the boy figured. So the guy at the computer must be the Dark Knight himself._

_Johan spoke to the older man. “You must have some good equipment to detect the nanomachines.”_

_“We have the best,” the man said. “I admit I was fascinated by the discovery. Nanorobotics is a field that I assumed had not entered practical application.”_

_The boy inclined his head. “You’re a smart guy then. Not many scientists would even know what they were looking at.”_

_The man grinned, dimples appearing on his freckled cheeks. “It’s not everyday I meet someone enhanced by nanomachine technology.”_

_“Yeah,” Johan remarked with a sigh. “There aren’t many of us around.” The boy tilted his head to look over at the man working at the computer. “Hey Batman,” he called, “if you’re trying to find me in any database, you won’t. I don’t exist – I’m not recognized by any government or private organization, military or otherwise.”_

_The man stopped typing and the busy screens became blank. He stood up and turned, walking to the two of them. Johan’s eyes didn’t betray anything, but inwardly he was surprised._

_It was none other than Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham himself. He had changed out of his Bat suit and was wearing khaki’s with a polo shirt, a relaxed expression on his chiseled features. From the man’s gait Johan knew that Bruce Wayne was indeed the Batman, the man he had seen fight criminals over the past three months. The man’s weight was shifting evenly on both feet and the boy could tell that Wayne was an accomplished fighter; he was without a doubt the Dark Knight._

_Well, Johan thought dryly, it does make sense. Who else has the money to afford the gadgets Batman uses? And he’s always bumbling around the paparazzi so no one would notice his true physical prowess. Wayne’s entire public life is an act._

_“I thought your tattoo was going to be an easy trace,” the man drawled calmly, green eyes focused on the boy._

_I’d know those eyes anywhere, Johan thought. They look better without the black paint smeared around them._

_Wayne continued. “The search came up empty. Turns out you’re a ghost.”_

_Johan smiled and put down the glass of water, the action making a clunk on the metal gurney. “Or a ‘shadow’. Seems more fitting doesn’t it?” The boy turned back to the older gentlemen. “Thank you for the water, Mr., um…”_

_“Fox,” the man said, extending a hand. “Lucius Fox, Board Member for Wayne Enterprises and head of Research and Development.”_

_Johan nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Fox. I hope you haven’t wasted anything on me to counteract the gas. Whatever Crane used, I don’t need anything for my recovery.”_

_“I know,” Fox said with a knowing glance to Johan’s bandaged hand. “I’ve run several blood tests over the past two hours. The nanomachines appear to have eliminated the toxins at a rapid speed. You are essentially immune to their effects.”_

_“Yeah, they’re good for stuff like that.” Johan shifted his gaze to Wayne. “Thanks for bringing me back here, Batman. I owe you one – I was pretty out of it.”_

_Wayne nodded. “No thanks needed, Shadow.”_

_Fox issued a loud coughing noise. “Isn’t it time to move past calling each other by your alter egos?” he told Bruce in a chiding tone. “You helped out the boy and now he knows that you’re Bruce Wayne. He doesn’t strike me as someone who’s a danger to Batman’s cause.”_

_The younger man pursed his lips and stared at Johan; the gold eyes stayed fixed on green._

_“He’s right, Mr. Wayne,” Johan said. “Your secret is safe with me. I know the importance of keeping identities hidden.”_

_The green eyes remained focused on the boy. “You know my name. What’s yours?”_

_The boy paused slightly before answering. “Joe.”_

_“Last name?”_

_“Don’t know it.”_

_Wayne sighed. “I thought you’d be older. You must have been trained from a young age.”_

_Johan shrugged. “I was taught to fight early but I’m also older than I look.”_

_“That’s due to the nanomachines, right?” Fox asked with interest. “I read that they could slow down the aging process, in theory at least.”_

_“You got it, Mr. Fox,” Johan said. “And it’s not just theory anymore.”_

_Fox hummed in thought. “The elastin and collagen of your skin must regenerate at a rapid pace to eliminate any signs of tissue breakdown.”_

_Johan shrugged. “Sounds right to me.”_

_“So how old are you?” Wayne asked._

_Johan took a minute to figure it out in his head, tapping his fingers on edge of the metal gurney. “Twenty one I think, give or take a year.”_

_Wayne was rubbing his stubbly chin. “You have a family?”_

_“Do people like us ever do?” Johan inquired. “I’m pretty sure if we did then we’d be doing normal things, like going to Sunday lunch at grandma’s instead of chasing down criminals on rooftops.”_

_A soft chuckled emitted from Fox. Wayne ignored the older man and look pointedly at Johan._

_“I expect you to honor your word, Joe,” the man said, eyes gleaming. “You can’t reveal who I am once you leave here. People’s lives depend on my identify as Batman staying unknown.”_

_The boy nodded in understanding. “I get it, Mr. Wayne. You can trust me.” He shifted his head to look more clearly at the large chamber they were currently in. “And where exactly is ‘here’?”_

_“The shipping yards,” Wayne answered. “We’re sitting under the Wayne Enterprises storage lot. This is my temporary hub of operations.”_

_Pretty neat, Johan admitted to himself. So this is underground…_

_“What about Dr. Crane,” Fox interjected. “He saw Joe’s face. You think that’s a threat to the boy?”_

_“I wouldn’t worry about it, Lucius,” Wayne placated the older man. “Just like Joe said, he’s a shadow with no recorded identity or way to trace him. Crane knowing his face won’t endanger anyone.”_

_Johan watched the two men talking. Mr. Fox was Wayne’s own personal genius scientist. Not bad having someone like him in your corner. But still, that wasn’t enough help for one guy to take on an entire city’s criminals._

_The boy cleared his throat, causing both men to look at him. “You never called my frequency, Mr. Wayne.”_

_“I didn’t want to,” Wayne stated simply._

_Johan narrowed his eyes. “Why is that?”_

_“I work alone.”_

_“You already told me that. But it’s obviously not true,” Johan countered while gesturing with a hand to Mr. Fox. “You have people as backup off the field. It’s about time you accepted help on it.”_

_Wayne’s face remained blank. “Tell me why you’re here in Gotham, Joe.”_

_“To help you.”_

_“Why? Why help a stranger in a Bat suit fight crime?”_

_“You seem to have demons of your own,” Johan reasoned, his voice calm and level. “I’m here doing the same thing. It makes sense for us to back each other up."_

_“I don’t want a partner.”_

_Johan huffed out a puff of hot air. “Well in that case you should have left me in the alleyway with Crane. I would have been okay.”_

_“You don’t know that,” Wayne said and stuffed his hands into his khaki pockets. “Crane has other things besides fear gas in his repertoire.”_

_“Mr. Wayne, if you didn’t want this, um, thing of ours to go any further, then you shouldn’t have brought me here. But you did.”_

_Fox had stayed silent until now. “The kid has a point, Bruce.”_

_Johan smirked as the younger man shot Mr. Fox a glare. The look was meant to be a warning but it had no real heat behind it. Wayne raised a hand and raked his hand over his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes._

_“Listen, Mr. Wayne,” Johan pressed and hopped off the gurney towards the man. The sweatpants were too long for him and brushed against the hard floor. “If you want we can act as if this never happened. We’ll go back to just pretending the other person isn’t there.”_

_The boy was now two feet in front of Wayne. He brushed a hand through his own messy chestnut hair. “But I don’t think that’s really what you want.”_

_Wayne raised his eyebrows. “Really? You know what I want?”_

_“Yes,” Johan said while focusing his gaze upwards; Wayne was almost half a foot taller than the boy. “You’re going to get burnt out at the rate you're going – this job is too much for one man. You know that I can handle myself so there’s no need to worry about me getting hurt.”_

_The boy took another step closer, his eyes filled with determination. “You brought me here. That means you want help, even if you’re too proud to admit it. And that’s why I’m not giving you a choice. You have my support, whether you ask for it or not.”_

_A low whistling sound came from Mr. Fox’s direction and Johan saw a huge smile plastered on the older man’s face._

_“Looks like you found your match, Bruce,” Fox noted and slapped Wayne on the back. “He’s just as stubborn as you.”_

_“Thanks, Lucius,” Wayne remarked dryly. He never took his eyes off Johan. “So then, Joe – what kind of support are you offering?”_

_Johan grinned. “Nothing special. If there’s a big bust coming up or a situation where there are a lot of guys you need to take down, call me. Simple as that.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’m not looking to be your, um, sidekick or something. Just extra help when possible.”_

_The man stayed silent for a moment, studying the ground. He looked up after a minute to stare once more at the boy._

_“You know who I am,” Wayne supplied. He put a hand on one of his hips and tapped a finger over his khakis. “But I know nothing about you except your name.”_

_“I don’t know anything about you, either. Along with anyone else in Gotham,” Johan pointed out with a shrug. “Your life is the definition of secret. I should be asking you for answers Mr. 'Playboy of the Year'.”_

_Bruce raised one eyebrow. “Last I knew, I’m not the one asking you for help.” He pursed his lips, a habit the boy was beginning to notice. “I need to know more if you want to work with me.”_

_Johan watched the man for a long moment and walked backwards to sit on the metal gurney, bare feet hanging in the air._

_“Fair enough,” Johan said with a nod towards Wayne. “Tell me what you want to know.”_

_The man stopped tapping on his hip. “Okay. Who trained you, and where? Your technique and execution are some of the best I’ve seen.”_

_I need to earn his trust, Johan thought. Might as well tell him the truth. Here it goes._

_“I was a child soldier,” Johan remarked smoothly._

_Johan saw Fox’s eyes widen remarkably and Wayne responded after only a beat._

_“Where was this?” Wayne asked, his green eyes glittering with displeasure._

_“In Africa.”_

_“You sound American,” the younger man said with a strained edged to his voice. “To my knowledge child soldiers in modern day are prevalent in the Middle East and Africa. Wayne Enterprises funds a branch of UNICEF who in turn provides us with current statistics. Are you hiding your native accent?”_

_Johan shook his head and made sure his face remained calm against the intense looks from both men. “This is my real accent. A private military facility owned by American-born mercenaries in Africa took me in. They trained me.”_

_Bruce didn’t blink for a long time, staring at Johan. “What is this facility called?”_

_“That’s information I’m going to keep to myself for now,” Johan stated. “But the facility was off any governmental records.”_

_There was a deep crease between Wayne’s brows. “You don’t look African, Joe.”_

_Johan smiled tightly. “Good observation. I wasn’t born in Africa. My parents were Israeli missionaries in Sierra Leone. My father was a doctor and my mother a nurse.”_

_“What happened to them?” Fox asked._

_“They were killed by rebels,” Johan said. He sighed, “It was during the civil war. Our medical camp was raided. I was away from the camp with some other children that night. We survived by chance.”_

_The boy could hear Bruce swallow dryly. His eyes seemed sad; the man knew the pain of losing a parent, let alone both. Not many could actually know the loss that Johan felt._

_The younger man had a sorrowful look in his eyes. “How did this organization, ah, recruit you?”_

_“I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I stayed with the group of orphaned children whose parents had also died in the raid. We lived in a slum. One of the head mercenaries was scouting out rebels that were hiding there. The man saw me fighting with a kid who tried to steal my pocketknife. He…collected me.”_

_Fox folded his fingers in his lap. “They seemed to have taught you well.”_

_Johan nodded slowly. He had been trained by elite killers who in turn made the boy into a killer himself._

_Wayne thick brows were still furrowed. “And they experimented on you?”_

_“Yes, but only after I had been trained for many years,” Johan said. As hard as he tried the boy couldn’t help the bitter tone as he spoke, “They couldn’t waste experimental materials dealing with nanorobotics on ‘untrained specimens’. Only the best of us were chosen since one vial of nanomachine serum cost millions. It wasn’t worth their money to enhance a body that wasn’t capable of putting the added strength and speed to good use.”_

_Wayne folded his arms and stared at the ground while Fox leaned on the gurney next to the boy, a look equal parts concern and understanding on his lined face._

_“I’ve heard of subjects being used for experimental military research. Even as recently as the Cold War,” the older man said. “But I never thought it could be true in this day and age.”_

_“Where is this military facility now?” Wayne said as he snapped his neck upwards. His green eyes were blazing._

_“It doesn’t matter,” Johan told him. “The facility and personnel were destroyed in an explosion three years ago. I was able to escape in the chaos of the aftermath.” The boys golden eyes darkened. “They can’t hurt anyone else anymore.”_

_The enormous room was silent save for the breathing of the three of them. Fox was still sitting next to Johan; he placed a tentative hand on the boy’s back._

_Johan looked to Wayne, the brown hair falling over the forehead of the man’s handsome face. “If it’s okay with you, Mr. Wayne, I’d rather keep other details to myself. Just know that all I’ve told you is true. I’m on my own and working for no one. My presence here is not a threat to you.” He paused a moment, pressing his lips firmly together before relaxing them. “I’m only here to help you. If you let me.”_

_The younger man unfolded his arms and put his hands at his sides. He let out a deep breath and watched Johan’s face. The boy kept his expression open, allowing Wayne to see that he was telling the truth._

_“I think you’ll fit in with us just fine,” Fox told Johan as he squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “We all have certain things in our pasts that we’d rather forget. Instead, we use what we’ve acquired for good.” He looked to Mr. Wayne. The younger man's gaze was directed at the floor once more. “Bruce of all people can understand using the pain from your past to help others.”_

_Wayne didn’t reply to Lucius’ comment. He seemed to be deep in thought, oblivious that his name had even been spoken. After a few moments Wayne suddenly looked up to the older man._

_“Lucius,” he began, “do we have any bikes up in R &D?”_

_“We have a few models in storage,” Fox informed him. The older man had an entertained grin on his face._

_“Good. Maybe Joe can pick one out.”_

_“Bikes?” Johan said, his face full of curiosity. “You mean motorcycles?”_

_Wayne looked amused at Johan’s expression. “You tend to move by rooftop. I need you to travel faster by ground when I call you for assistance.”_

_The boy was in awe at this whole situation._

_Bruce is going to let me help him? He thought. That was easier than I expected…_

_Johan couldn’t help the nagging bit of suspicion in the corner of his brain. Sure, he had told Wayne some of his past, but that didn’t warrant the sudden acceptance of his proposal to offer the Batman help._

_And they’re going to give me a motorcycle, too? He thought. I’ve always wanted one, but this is too good to be true…_

_“What do you want in return for the bike?” Johan asked._

_“Nothing,” Wayne informed him. “Just stick to your word of secrecy. For both of our safety.”_

_“Of course,” Johan replied with a nod. “You can count on it.”_

_Wayne smiled. “In that case, Joe, I think we have a deal between us.” He patted Johan on the arm before pivoting around._

_Johan hesitated as he saw Wayne walking towards the enormous computer._

_“So that’s it?” the boy said._

_Wayne paused in his stride. He turned around to study the boy. “What’s ‘it’?”_

_“You’re letting me work with you?”_

_“I am.”_

_“Why?” Johan asked him. “You weren’t that keen on it earlier.”_

_The man pursed his lips. “You persuaded me. I’ve been at this a year. There are times when unofficial support from officers of the GCPD isn’t enough. It would be better defending the city with help from someone like you.”_

_“Yeah, I’ve seen you talking with Lieutenant Gordon,” Johan said in recognition to Wayne’s remark. “He seems like a good guy.”_

_Wayne sighed. “One of the few.”_

_“But we know that a police officer doesn’t have skills like you, young man,” Fox interjected into the conversation. “Bruce says you gave him a run for his money. You’ll be a good partner when my gadgets can’t get him out of a bind.”_

_Ah, Johan realized. So Lucius must have made Wayne his cool grapple hook device, along with all those other fancy toys._

_“He’s not going to be my partner, Lucius,” Wayne clarified weakly. “Call it ‘Extra Assistance’.”_

_The older man laughed quietly. “Call it what you want, Bruce – the kid is your partner in my book.”_

_Wayne looked as if he was fighting a grin from showing on his face._

_“I don’t get it, Mr. Wayne,” Johan stated, his eyes focused on the younger man. “You said you didn’t want my help. But then you brought me here and let me discover your identity. Why?”_

_“Believe it or not, kid, I knew I could trust you,” Wayne said._

_“How could you know that? You knew nothing about me.”_

_The man gave Johan a thin smile. “During our fight, I let my guard down when we heard the sirens.”_

_“So?”_

_“You had the perfect opportunity to attack and win our bet.”_

_Johan remembered the moment, when Batman had abruptly loosened his fighting stance. “Um, okay. What about it?”_

_“You didn’t try to strike,” Wayne answered._

_The boy shrugged. “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t have won on fair terms if I had.”_

_Wayne grinned for the first time, displaying his white teeth. “That’s why I trust you, Joe.”_

_Johan nodded to the man, not saying anything in return, his golden eyes showing appreciation._

_Oh, I see, Johan realized. Batman had been testing me. Pretty good move on Wayne’s part._

_“Let’s place a call to Alfred,” Wayne said as he resumed his walk to the computer. “He’s been expecting this meeting for quite a while.”_

_“‘Expecting’?” The boy was surprised and didn’t try to hide it. “You were already going to accept my offer?”_

_“I predicted you’d make your way down here eventually. The only thing I didn’t know was how,” Wayne said, his back still facing Johan. “I had to talk to you face to face, without our masks, to make my final decision about your assistance.”_

_Johan chuckled. “And here I thought you couldn’t stand me.”_

_“Quite the opposite, kid,” Wayne drawled. “Your work on the streets couldn’t be better.”_

_“Really?” the boy asked. “You never stopped once to tell me.”_

_Bruce turned and smiled again. “I didn’t want to stroke your ego. Oh, and I almost forgot,” he put a palm flat against his chest. “Call me, ‘Bruce’.”_

_Johan grinned and couldn't help the slight blush that formed on his face. He had never read any of the stories that the tabloids ran on the billionaire, but even Johan couldn't deny that the man was handsome. And now Gotham's most eligible bachelor was none other than the Batman, the man who had just told him to call him 'Bruce'..._

_Damn it, Johan thought. It’s probably not the greatest idea to find your vigilante-partner extremely attractive. Especially since I’m sure Wayne is only into chicks, at least if the tabloid headlines are to be believed. Ah well, not everyone can bat for both teams._

_Bruce cleared his throat and Johan realized he hadn’t answered. The boy's cheeks flushed further from embarrassment._

_“ 'Bruce’ it is,” they boy stated._

_The man didn’t say anymore as he returned to his seat in the chair where Johan first saw him. The boy turned to Mr. Fox._

_“Bruce is calling a guy name Alfred.” Johan told the man. “Is he a scientist like you?”_

_The older man laughed and started to walk to the computer as well. “Not at all. He’s Bruce’s butler.”_

_“His…butler?”_

_“Yes. Bruce owes the man a great deal. Alfred is the wizard behind the Batman curtain, so to speak.”_

_Huh, Johan thought inwardly. Batman’s real sidekick is…his butler._

_“Come on over, Joe,” Lucius said. “Alfred has been wanting to meet you. If he likes you enough he may make you cookies. His homemade macadamia recipe is to die for.”_

_The boy raised a brow and followed Lucius to the computer, feeling like he’d somehow been accepted as a new member of the Bat family._

Johan’s attention was brought back to the tablet as the video feed connection loaded and turned on. It was static.

“What?” Johan said aloud.

He turned the feed off and then on again. It was still just black and white fuzziness.

_This is strange_ , Johan thought. _Is the camera broken?_

With this new development, Johan had no way of seeing if Bruce was doing okay. Or if he was even still alive…

_Maybe Bane had Bruce killed in the last day_ , Johan wondered seriously as he chewed his bottom lip, pinching the flesh between his teeth. _Either way, I’d have no way of knowing the truth if I can’t see Bruce for myself. What should I do now?_

The boy closed his eyes _. Maybe,_ he thought _, it’s time for me to finally get out of here._

Johan’s finger held down a side button on the tablet. The screen went blank as it shut off. He messily threw the tangled bed sheets of his legs and quietly pulled on his stealth suit which he kept the top drawer of his dresser; thankfully Bane had allowed him to keep it. Next he layered over the suit a sweater and pair of jeans. Moving to the wardrobe, he slowly opened the door to avoid any creaking to disrupt the quite room. Snatching out his coat, he hastily pulled it on and then walked to the bed to tie his boots. Johan grabbed the top bed sheet off the mattress as he walked to the windows of the penthouse suite. It was still early in the morning and the sky was black. His hand clutching the white linen was shaking as he stared at the park below.

_This is it,_ Johan decided with conviction. _I’ll take that damn broken camera as my sign leave. Hopefully it means that Bruce found a way to get out. But without visual confirmation, I can’t take Bane at his word if Bruce is alive or dead. And I have a gut feeling that the League’s plan is coming to a close. Bruce and I are becoming unnecessary risks that Talia will want killed. If Bruce isn’t dead now, he probably will be soon._

Johan closed his eyes, drawing in a deep cleansing breath and exhaling slowly.

_I’ve given Bruce all the extra time I could…_

When he opened them, there was a fleeting glimmer of silver in the gold eyes. It was gone an instant later. Johan took one last sweeping look of the hotel room.

Scenes of rough sex and blood smeared on white sheets fluttered in Johan’s mind. He felt the phantom pains of strong hands bruising his flesh and bone. Talia smiled viciously at him while she cut through him and he could feel Bane’s sweat dripping on his hot skin. Many nights he would spend laying on the bed, his entire body throbbing while he waited patiently for the nanomachines to knit his broken parts together, wiping the slate clean as if nothing had ever happened.

That was when memories of a different kind erupted in the boy’s thoughts. Rough fingers ghosting softly over lips and gentle hands brushing through his sweat soaked hair. Moments of quiet relaxation, the sun lazily streaming through the windows in times of reading and dozing, with both he and Bane existing in calm serenity.

The two sides of Bane were these: the violent and the kind, the primal and the human. Never had Johan seen such opposite traits meshed together and exhibited so clear in one man. Yet with Bane, the conflicting ideals were so paradoxical that Johan couldn’t help but find himself intrigued constantly by the man.

Bane had no idea, but he and Johan had similar pasts. They were both unattached souls, looking for purpose in a cruel world. Johan saw gray eyes that were kind, almost too kind for the man to which they belonged. It was so strange, those eyes…

_Enough_ , Johan chastised himself. _This isn’t the time for Stockholm syndrome or some shit like it._ _The guy is going to kill an entire city and I need to get out there and do something about it._

He wrapped the sheet tightly around his trembling hand and raised his arm in from of the large window.

_Time to go._

Loud cracks of glass filled the room as he pounded his linen-covered hand over and over into the window, tiny fractures radiating from the focal point of his punching fist. The windowpane eventually relented after a few sharp blows and the entire sheet of glass broke into hundreds of tiny shards. As the window smashed Johan could hear Barsad outside shouting to others down the hall for help. The lock on the door was being slipped open.

Before Barsad could open the door Johan had stepped out the window, sidling on the half-foot ledge that jutted out from the brick building’s exterior. The cold wind was whipping against the boy’s face and he looked down to see the streets below that appeared miniature from his viewpoint fifty-two stories above. He dropped the bunched-up sheet from his hand and saw it flutter in the harsh winter wind and travel out of sight below. Johan moved down the ledge and saw a small patio area three floors underneath. Just as he heard the door to the suite slamming open, Johan leapt from the ledge and hit the floor of the outdoor patio below with a roll. The boy wasted no time; he glanced around and saw the adjacent building to the right was fifteen stories down across the street.

_Risky_ , Johan surmised, _but doable_.

He backed up as far as he could away from the ledge. The boy would need a running start to clear the length of the street to the lower building. His back was touching the wall of the building now. He bent forward to run.

“Stop, Joseph!” A voice shouted from above. Johan looked to see Barsad leaning out the penthouse window, assault rifle in hand and aimed at the boy.

“I can’t!” Johan called back over the howling wind. “You’re going to have shoot me, Barsad.”

The man’s face was blank, his short hair blowing in the air while he squinted his eyes. “I am not allowed.”

“Bane’s orders?”

Barsad continued to stare, unmoving.

Johan stared back. “Can you give Bane a message for me?”

The man said nothing. Johan took that as a ‘yes’.

“Tell him he could be a good man. Tell him to stop the bomb.” Johan paused, his eyes shining. “Please, Barsad, tell him this.”

Barsad’s expression flickered to surprise briefly before wiping itself blank once more. The boy didn’t wait for a reply; he ran forward at a sprint and pushed hard with his legs off the ledge. He fell through the air in a forward flip, his body sailing over the empty street below. His shoulders hit the roof hard as he again landed in a roll, his legs weak from hard drop.

“Agh!” he cried out loudly. He went to push his body up and found that his left arm hung limply at his side.

_It’s fucking broken_ , he thought with dismay. _Shit! The fall was too high for the nanomachines._

Johan got up slowly and he took off in a steady jog across the building top, his right arm cradling his left. As he craned his neck behind before clearing the next street, Johan glanced back to see Barsad watching his retreating form against the twilight sky.

Johan didn’t go to the underground headquarters by the docks; he couldn’t risk it if someone were following him. His trembling limbs were struggling to keep up with the sudden exertion. The boy decided to hide in an abandoned warehouse just as the sun began to rise. He managed to set the bone in place, yelling out in the pain as he shifted the pieces within his arm. With his left arm needing to heal, he couldn’t do anything useful for at least a day; the nanomachines needed time to heal the broken bone.

He decided to sleep in a corner covered by empty metal containers for most of the day. When he woke up later in the afternoon, he saw something incredible. There was a faint glow coming in from one of the high windows of the warehouse.

_What is that?_ Johan wondered. He got up to walk to the side of the building with the mysterious light. When he peered out of a lower window, the boy sucked in a breath of surprise.

It was the Bat symbol, burning brightly over the Westward Bridge, about twenty blocks away.

_No way_ , the boy thought, his eyes looking at the giant pattern of fire.

The surge of emotion that filled Johan’s chest was almost too much for the boy to handle: it was an immeasurable mixture of relief and happiness.

Bruce was alive.

_He did it_ , Johan said in amazement. _Bruce made it out of the Pit alive. He’s alive!_

Johan felt a large swell of hope, the most he had experienced in his five months of captivity. Now Gotham had a chance of surviving Bane and Talia’s retribution. Johan breathed a sigh that unwound months’ worth of tension from his muscles.

_I need to meet up with Bruce_ , Johan realized. _I have to help_.

The bone in his arm seemed to be mostly healed and was only a bit tender when Johan prodded it. The boy took off his sweater, jeans, and coat, leaving only his stealth suit. He no longer had his protective mask; the last time Johan had seen it was when Bane dropped it on the dirty floor of the sewers, right after their deal all those months ago.

_It’s fine_ , Johan thought. _I’ll stay out of sight_. The boy went to run up the stairs to the building’s roof.

His legs seized.

He was halfway up the metal staircase when his body crashed forward.

“Damn it!” he cried out in the abandoned building. “This can’t be happening now!”

But it was, and there was nothing Johan could do. He was months overdue on his serum and the huge plummet to rooftop his body had absorbed last night, along with the broken arm, seemed to be the nanomachines final straw. The little robots were done. His entire body was incapable of moving from the intense shaking. The boy wouldn't be going anywhere now, let alone helping the newly returned Bruce.

Johan grabbed his trembling legs and yelled out in frustration, his voice bouncing off the empty expanse of room. There was nothing to do but sit and wait for the nanomachines to calm down. He waited for hours, nervous energy making his body feel itchy with stagnation. Morning approached and his limbs had calmed somewhat. He decided to venture into the alleys, staying to a slow pace and sticking to the shadows. In the afternoon he heard gunfire and explosions downtown, many blocks away from his uptown location. He couldn’t run even though he desperately wanted to because he couldn’t risk his legs seizing again.

Johan slowly made his way to the sounds of battle only to arrive after the fight had ended. The scene of carnage before City Hall was surreal; almost a hundred bodies were laying on the building steps and street. He entered the building to see the remnants of a scene, the pool of blood on the floor with pieces of Bane’s mask laying in the mess.

When the atom bomb went off, Johan had gone in its direction. He stayed on the sidewalks but there was no one around, the city eerily empty. He came upon some blown up tumblers in the street, the models that Bane had stolen from Wayne Enterprise R&D. Johan continued to follow the trail of vehicle carnage for a few minutes when he came to a strange scene: Selina Kyle, dressed in her Catwoman garb, and Commissioner Gordon. They were standing by a crashed truck with none other than a deceased Talia Al Ghul in the driver seat. Batman wasn’t there. It was only ten minutes after the atom bomb explosion and Selina was talking with the Commissioner quietly; the man looked distraught. Catwoman then walked away, striding over to the Batpod and zipping down the road away from the dissipating mushroom cloud of the atom bomb over the bay.

Commissioner Gordon remained, seemingly waiting for backup to arrive and handle Talia’s body. He lowered himself down then, sitting against the back of the military truck’s large tire; he didn’t seem bothered by Talia’s lifeless body hanging limply a few feet away. The man took off his glasses and pressed hands against his eye sockets tiredly. He looked too thin and pale for Johan’s liking.

The boy had been sitting in a darkened alleyway off the to side. He was lucky to happen upon this strange scene.

“Gordon,” his voice said, carrying from the shadows.

Gordon stood up hastily, putting on his glasses. His gaze was fixed to the opening of the alleyway.

“Who’s there?” he asked, readying his gun.

“Shadow.”

The man stepped closer. “Show yourself.”

“I’m not wearing my mask, Commissioner.”

Golden halted then, his gun still at his side. “Where have you been? It’s been months.”

_What do I tell him?_ Johan wondered. _I can’t tell him the truth. This mess just ended ten minutes ago and it looks like Gordon had to deal with the brunt of it. All while I’ve been sitting in a penthouse suite getting fucked by the guy behind everything._

“I haven’t been in Gotham,” Johan lied. “I only returned today.”

Gordon chuckled bitterly and glanced back at the remains of the atom bomb. “You’re a bit too late, son.”

Johan looked at the Commissioner from the shadows. The man looked as if he had aged ten years since the last time the boy saw him. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Gordon.”

They both waited in silence.

“Did Batman fly the bomb over the bay?” the boy asked.

Gordon took a moment to reply. “He did. He saved all of us.”

“I’m here to help you now,” Johan told him. “You don’t have to handle all of this by yourself, Commissioner. I’ll be fighting at Batman’s side again.”

“Did…did you see what happened?” Gordon inquired hesitantly. He took another step towards the dark alleyway.

Johan’s heart started beating faster at the man’s worried timbre. “What are you talking about?”

The man looked as if a knife had gone through his heart, the life draining out of him. “Batman…Bruce…is gone, son.”

_What…_ Johan thought numbly. _He flew the bomb out…didn’t he come back…?_

“Gone?” Johan stated in an absent tone. “How?”

Gordon coughed, his voice choked. “The autopilot was out on his plane.”

Johan was breathing heavy now, his throat too tight to say anything. He was staring at Gordon now but didn’t see the man.

“He sacrificed himself to save Gotham,” the man said.

_No…please…no_ , Johan pleaded into the void. _He can’t be gone…_

“Son?”

_He killed himself to save the city,_ Johan thought. _That bastard. After all the shit he gave himself for being ‘selfish’, he goes and gives his life to this city. And he never thought he was good enough…_

Tears began to well up in the boy’s eyes. He hurriedly wiped them away.

_Looks like you paid the ultimate price, Bruce,_ he continued inwardly. _You ended your pain by giving your life. You got what you wanted, and now you can rest…_

“Shadow? Are you still there?”

The boy’s eyes focused and he saw Gordon coming closer to the alleyway, a concerned look on his tired features.

Johan let out a forced cough, stepping backwards and away from the approaching man. “I’ll be in contact, Gordon.” He turned around and walked to the other end as quickly as he dared.

“What?” the man asked. “Are you leaving?”

Johan continued his stride; he was almost to the end of the alley.

“For a while. I’ll be back.” The boy turned the corner.

Gordon was left alone. The boy was already out of sight but he still heard the man’s parting words, spoken loud enough for Johan to hear.

“I’ll be here when you get back, son.”

_Don’t worry, Gordon,_ Johan thought. _As soon as I get my nanos fixed I’ll be here to help._

The boy’s eyebrows scrunched together. _I’ll be here for you, too._


	11. Chapter 11

_Present day, September_

“So where do you think he’d be?” Bruce’s voice was traveling through the tiny device situated in the boy’s ear.

Johan had left the Batcave beneath the docks a few minutes ago and was heading on rooftop to the secret storage location of his motorcycle.

“I’m trying the sewers,” he replied.

Johan heard a sigh on the other end. “A bit obvious, don’t you think?”

The voice of Ra’s sounded in Johan’s mind, as well as the scene that had occurred not more than two hours ago.

_“Tell me where Bane is, Ra’s,” Johan pleaded and leaned close to the man’s face. He heard a tiny gurgle from the man’s mouth._

_“In darkness…where he…belongs.”_

The boy let out a breath.

“It makes sense, Bruce. Ra’s wouldn’t have had time to make a new base of operations. He’d have to use what was already available. The sewers would be perfect.”

“The police have cleaned up whatever the League left down there.”

The boy grunted as he jumped a gap between buildings. “Not where I’m going." 

Their little room was most likely untouched. Before relocating to the Four Seasons, Johan had been locked in those minuscule living quarters for two months, sleeping atop the lumpy mattress on the floor and reading to the pitiful light of the single bulb. The boy highly doubted that the GCPD had found that area of the sewers. Sure, the police had gutted out the leftover weapon storehouses and underground living facilities of the mercenaries, but the room Bane and Johan had stayed in was hidden deep inside a maze-like section of the sewer tunnels. If the boy hadn’t walked out of there himself he would never have been able to find his way back again.

Johan could feel the metal key he snatched from Ra's brush against his skin where it sat snug in one of the suit's slim pockets. The key seemed like it belonged to a padlock, the kind you could purchase at any hardware store.

Ra’s' words once more flared up inside his brain: _“He is being punished for his infractions. I will not have a rogue League member causing untold havoc in my name.”_

 _Why would Ra’s keep a key in his pocket?_ Johan wondered. _It’s not a house or apartment key, that’s for sure - it’s too small and compact. Which means he’s locking something up for safe-keeping…_

The boy’s fists tightened as he jumped off a roof ledge harder than needed, his knees protesting the harsh landing onto the next building.

_…Or someone…_

“So where are you going?” Bruce’s voiced asked in his ear. “Gordon and the entire force scoured the whole tunnel system. They gutted out everything, Joe.”

“Not where Bane and I lived.”

“Where you both…” There was a pause as the man’s voice teetered off.

“We had a room. It was secluded away from the other mercenary quarters.”

There was a second of silence before the man replied. “I see…that makes sense. He would make sure where he slept was hidden…”

The boy could tell that Bruce found this conversation awkward. He could almost picture the man’s cheeks flushing red with embarrassment, something that didn’t happen often.

“Yeah,” Johan said to save the man from his stuttering, “I figure if Bane and Ra’s were underground, they’d be there.”

Bruce sighed through the communicator. “Good thinking, kid. Contact me if you find him.”

“Will do, Bats.”

Johan jumped into an alley and made it to the hidden door in the dead-end of the brick wall. He entered the key code, watching as the door silently lifted itself to reveal his Ducati.

“I’m serious,” the man told him in a stern tone. “Even though you think Bane won’t hurt you because of your... _time_ together, be alert. He can’t be trusted.”

“Okay, Bruce, I got it,” the replied with an eye roll. Johan straddled the bike and revved the engine, pulling the helmet over his mask. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll call you if it gets out of hand.”

“I always worry, Joe.”

“Now you sound like the Commissioner.”

Johan felt the man smiling by his voice. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The two said no more as Johan twisted the throttle, making the engine roar loudly as he jettisoned the bike down the alleyway and into the Gotham night. Soon he arrived at the designated opening to the underground railway where he, Bane, and Barsad had emerged from their subterranean dwellings all those months back.

 _I was so happy just to smell fresh air when we left_ , the boy remembered with approaching dread. _Never thought I’d be going back down there…_

The boy hid his sportbike and helmet in a crevice by the train tracks and followed the metal rails where the tracks entered their underground cavern. After about a mile he slipped down a barely noticeable passageway. He trekked a half mile before reaching a vertical tunnel that went down several stories into the ground. As the boy bent his head over the dark hole he could feel cool air wafting from below through the semi-permeable fabric of his stealth suit. A rickety ladder with metal rungs was bolted to the cement walls. Johan climbed down two steps at a time, careful not to make too much noise.

When he stepped on solid ground he heard his boots squish in the grimy mud of the floor.

 _Not too far now_ , Johan thought.

The boy turned on his small flashlight and studied the dirty ground; there were no other footprints besides the fresh ones he was making.

 _Not surprising, really,_ he knew. _The GCPD search of the tunnels definitely left out this area. Which makes it a perfect hiding place for Bane…_

After reaching a few dark intersections (with some pauses to rack his brain for which way to go), the boy eventually reached a familiar hallway: their room was at the other end, about 200 feet straight ahead. The tunnel was pitch black and Johan’s light couldn’t reach the end of the passageway, so he cautiously made his way onward. His boots were silent except for the occasionally time a stray pebble was kicked by the sole of his foot or a small mound of mud squashed beneath him.

The door would soon be in his vision.

 _What do I do if Bane’s there?_ Johan asked himself suddenly. _What if he does try to kill me?_

Then another thought entered his mind.

_What if he doesn’t?_

The boy’s stomach started to grow sour. His chest tightened and his throat constricted as he tried to swallow. Not even the nanomachines could fully regulate his body as his heart began to race and sweat beaded on his forehead under the mask. Feelings he had been trying to suppress for seven longs months were surfacing all at once; the walls he had built up were overcome and smashed by a giant wave, leaving only rubble in its wake.

The door came into sight.

There was padlock closed into place over it.

Johan stopped dead in his tracks.

 _Bane’s in there,_ the boy realized. _He’s there, he has to be…_

The boy shoved his hand into his pocket and drew out the key: it looked to be a match - the bronze coloring of the key was the same as the lock over the door.

Johan’s hand began to tremble as he enclosed the key tightly in his hand. The shaking was not from the nanomachines, but from an outward display of his inward battle.

 _All this time,_ the boy thought. _All this time I’ve been laying on Gordon’s couch, staring at that Van Gogh painting - at those damn cypress trees. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t stop thinking about Bane._

A trace of wetness began to form in the boy’s eyes.

 _There were more times than I can count where he used me for himself, and didn’t care about me at all._ Johan felt the fabric of the mask absorbing the salty wetness. _But after all that he was still kind to me at times. Yes, he did beat me, but it was only once, and it was because I was bad…_

He sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head back and forth.

Internally he screamed. _Is it wrong for me to be thinking like this?!_

The boy let out a muffled groan that vibrated softly in the small tunnel.

_He didn’t have to let Bruce live. He didn’t have to let me read his books. He didn’t have to let me walk in the park with him or hold me after what Talia made him do. He didn’t have to kiss me…_

Johan had tried to keep the truth from himself, the reality of how he really felt. Yes, Bane was a terrible man who had tried to murder countless innocent people. But still Johan cared for him.

The boy’s heart was still racing and the tears started to soak into his mask. His nose was also running and Johan ripped off the mask to wipe at it with the back of his gloved hand. Without looking he knew that his eyes were puffy and his chest was heaving up and down. He stood motionless in the passageway, the damp air hovering lazily against his heated face.

 _I’ve been too ashamed with myself to admit it before,_ Johan thought. _But I miss a part of that man. Not the merciless terrorist Bane, but the man who admires flowers, and likes to talk about the Count of Monte Cristo, and wants to learn about me. That man was good to me, and that’s the man care about._

The boy’s heart rate was becoming regular and his breathing was evening out. He slowly restored his mask over his head and shined his flashlight over the door. Walking silently he neared the door and put his ear against it.

He heard raspy breathing that was slow and steady. Johan swallowed thickly as he brought the key up to the padlock, jangling the metal as the turned the key and popped it open.

The breathing instantly stopped. A beat later it resumed at a shallower rhythm.

 _Guess I woke him up_ , Johan assumed with caution. _I better be ready_.

Without hesitating the boy turned the knob and kicked open the door, bending his knees and waiting to strike out at an attacking Bane. A few seconds passed but all Johan saw was darkness in the tiny room. Johan didn’t sense any movement, but he could still hear wheezing coming from the direction of the mattress against the wall.

“Come on out, Bane!” he called, staring at the black area before him.

No reply.

“I know you’re in there!”

No reply.

The boy tried again. “Ra’s is dead. Your plan is over.”

Johan thought he heard a tiny hitch in Bane’s breathing but couldn’t be sure.

Still no reply.

 _One last try then_. “Bane! Come out, or I’m going to drag you out myself.”

The voice was so quiet that Johan almost missed it. “Jo…seph…”

Johan’s eyes widened in alarm. _What the hell?_

The voice. It was wrong, all wrong. It didn’t sound mechanical. There was no hissing. It actually sounded _normal_. Which, under the circumstances, was _not_ normal. More so, it was weak and barely audible. Bane was hurt and, judging by his difficulty speaking, was also in pain.

The boy wasted no time. He threw caution aside and stepped into the room, grasping where he knew the pull-down wire was for the swinging light bulb. His hand found the wire, held tight, and tugged down. There was a click as the room was bathed in a weak glow. It was enough for Johan to see the pitiful form on the mattress.

Johan sucked in a startled breath. _Holy shit…_

The man was curled up on the mattress, sitting up with his back against the walls where they met in a corner. He looked smaller, his thick muscles diminished and no longer bulging outwards. His clothes were in tatters, the fatigue pants covered in blood and grime while his long sleeved shirt was missing a whole sleeve. The golden eyes trailed to the arm with the ripped sleeve and saw a dirty gauze bandage wrapped about the large shoulder and most of the man’s upper arm. There was a plastic bucket near the mattress that smelled terrible; Johan figured it was used as a makeshift toilet.

 _He must not be able to make it to the bathroom_ , Johan realized in shock.

The boy took in all of the above details in merely a second. When it came to the man’s face he took his time. It was, after all, the first time he had seen it without the leather and metal mask. Exposed to him was a face that was neither disfigured nor unpleasing to look upon. There was a straight nose, high cheekbones, and full lips. The only damage was a deep scar that ran from his top lip to the opening of his left nostril.

Johan remained speechless. _I didn’t think he’d look this…ordinary._

But there was one feature that was not normal: Bane’s eyes. Usually sharp and alert, the gray eyes were now dulled and appeared distant. They were looking at Johan but the gaze seemed detached.

“Bane?” Johan said softly. He slowly stepped forward and crouched by the edge of the mattress while trying to ignore the putrid smell from the bucket. From this closer view the boy could see the matted dirt all over the man’s skin; it looked like he hadn’t washed in months. “Did Ra’s do this to you?”

Bane’s head lolled, the gray eyes rolling backwards and closing.

“Hey!” Johan called loudly. He bent forward and snapped his fingers in front of the man’s face. Instantly the eyes darted opened and were looking at the boy’s masked face. They seemed to be waiting.

 _That’s better_ , the boy thought.

Johan searched the room quickly before turning back to the man. “Where’s your mask?”

“He…” the man rasped. “Destroyed…it.”

"It's gone?"

"...Yes."

 _Shit_ , Johan realized. _So this is Bane’s punishment. He has to endure his pain._ Johan let out a breath and scratched the back of his head through the fabric. _So now what do I do now?_

Calling Bruce should have been the first answer that popped into his head. It made sense – he could contact Bruce, the authorities would arrive, and Bane would be taken into police custody. Everything would end well and everyone would be happy.

But that’s not what Johan wanted.

By Bane being taken to the police, their ability to thwart whatever plans Ra’s had would vanish. Bane would never talk to the GCPD and trying to interrogate him would waste precious time. If things had any chance of moving along Johan had to have Bane tell him what the Demon’s Head had arranged in Gotham. The boy hoped that Bane still considered him _‘worthy’_ ; after all, he knew the man would never cooperate with anyone he didn’t deem fit to do so.

 _Ra’s is keeping him caged like an animal,_ Johan thought dryly. _That has to mean something else is going on here. It looks like Bane isn’t a mastermind behind this new plan…_

Johan saw Bane’s gaze starting to drift and the gray eyes slowly began to close once more. Without his breathable pain medication the man was struggling to stay coherent through his apparent misery.

“Stay with me!” the boy spoke loudly and snapped his fingers again in front of Bane’s face. The man’s confused eyes opened. “We’re leaving, Bane. Grab on to me as best you can.”

The boy leaned forward and weaved his right arm behind the man’s back and under the large arms. Bane flinched as Johan’s hand scraped against the dirty gauze dressing of the man’s shoulder.

“Up we go,” Johan said quietly and slowly began to sit up from his crouch and lift Bane’s upper body with him. The man was mostly dead weight but he did manage to rise up and stand on his feet, swaying to and fro. Johan kept one arm behind the man’s back, Bane’s uninjured arm draped over the boy’s shoulders, while the boy’s other arm pressed against the man’s torso to steady him.

The boy took a tiny step and nudged Bane forward, the man taking a shuffled baby-step towards the open door. The man moaned in displeasure.

“Easy now,” Johan advised, “small steps…”

They slowly moved past the threshold of the door and into the passageway. They couldn’t leave the way the boy had come because that would mean traversing up a ladder several stories. Johan had memorized the layout of the tunnel and knew of a different way they could make it to the surface; instead of climbing upward, they would walk up a slow incline to ground level. Pivoting to a side tunnel, Johan began their long walk.

They had trudged silently for several minutes before they turned down another dark corridor. Since the boy was using both hands to support the man he couldn’t use his flashlight; luckily his night vision was finely tuned and he was able to make do without. Bane was panting heavily and Johan could tell the man was struggling with each step.

“Ra’s…” the man started slowly, his voice coming from above Johan’s ear, “is…dead?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I killed him,” Johan answered in a heave as they turned down another passageway. Even with the nanomachines and the man’s obvious weight loss, Bane’s large frame was no easy burden.

“That is…” Bane wheezed. “Not…possible.”

“Well it happened, so I’d say it is.”

“You…do not… _kill_.”

Johan paused and Bane stopped beside him. It was strange to be talking with Bane without the constant hissing of the mask. He tightened his grip around the man’s waist; it was thinner than before, most likely due to meager rations.

“In this case,” the boy responded. “I had to.”

There was a moment of silence before Bane wheezed, “I am…pleased.”

“You are?” The boy turned to look at where the man’s face would be in the darkness. “But he was your leader.”

“Not…he.”

 _Oh,_ Johan realized. _He means Talia. I guess she was his only master…_

"Why were you locked in the room, Bane?"

The man wheezed several times. "Disobedience."

"When I met Ra's I gathered you two didn't get on well."

"We are...not _fond_...of the other."

 _'Not fond' is a strange phrase to describe torture_ , the boy mused inwardly, _but I guess you could put it that way_.

They resumed their slow pace. Johan decided it was good enough a time to place a call through his earpiece.

It rang only once before the man picked up. “Joe?”

“Hey, Jim.”

“What news have you got?” the man asked hurriedly. It was evident Gordon was been waiting anxiously for this call.

“Um…” the boy said, consciously aware of the large man listening beside him. “Not much. I was hoping you could give me a ride.”

“Of course, son. To where?”

“The docks.”

“The Batcave?”

“Yeah,” Johan grunted as Bane tripped slightly, making the boy lunge downwards to push back up on the man. They resumed their walk. “Can you bring a squad car?”

“Sure,” Gordon said hesitantly. Johan could tell the older man wanted to ask why but was refraining. Gordon drove an unmarked police car, more inconspicuous that way. But Johan wanted a cruiser complete with the metal gate between driver and passenger, just in case Bane became uncooperative.

“Where are you?” the man asked.

The boy removed his hand from Bane’s torso to glance at the digital watch. “We’ll be at 10th and 33rd in fifteen minutes.”

There was split second hesitation. “ ‘ _We’ll_ ’?” Gordon asked.

“I’ve got a friend with me,” Johan said in reply. “He’s coming with us.”

“Is it a suspect?”

“No, think of him as an informant.”

The boy could hear Gordon chair squeak as he sat up. “Okay. See you soon.”

“Thanks, Jim,” the boy told him and ended the call.

Ground level was approaching and Johan was glad to be almost done acting as a crutch to the larger man. The air was already growing fresher as they turned down another tunnel.

“ _‘Friend’_ ?” Bane rasped curiously.

“You were the one who told me enemies make for good friends,” Johan pointed out. “Remember?”

The boy heard a satisfied hum, although it was comparatively soft from what Johan recalled in the past.

“Are we…” the man began tiredly, “still…enemies?”

Johan let out a weak sigh. “That’s up to you. Are you done killing people?”

The man took a breath to answer but began shudder as he coughed violently, warm spittle falling onto Johan’s arm. The boy stopped so that Bane could catch his breath.

“My…” Bane said in a gulp, “… _flower_.”

 _Seems I still have that nickname_ , Johan thought with a small grin.

They began walking again when Bane settled. After turning down another corridor from the sewer tunnel to the actual railway line, the boy could see a faint light. They were very close to their destination.

 _Time to lay down the rules_ , Johan thought.

He paused once more and stepped from beside Bane to stare up at the man; the loss of support meant Bane had to lean against the brick wall. The faint light from up ahead allowed the boy to see the man’s face again. Bane was quite pale and drops of sweat were rolling down his forehead and chin, soaking into his filthy shirt. His eyes, however, seemed less glazed and more alert; they were staring down at the boy.

“You will do exactly as I say,” Johan ordered in a stern tone. “If you disobey me, I will incapacitate you. You will also receive no medication.” He waited a moment to let his words sink in. “Do you understand?”

Bane’s lips twitched, which was still strange for Johan to see, and studied the boy. The gray eyes were gaining some of their usual glitter.

“You will…give me… _medicine_?”

Johan nodded. “Only if you cooperate. I expect you to give me information in return.”

“I see…” the man rumbled. “About…Ra’s…al Ghul?”

“Yes. You’re going to tell me what he’s planning so I can stop it. Will you do as I say?”

The gray eyes were unreadable. “As…you wish.”

Johan let out a satisfied sigh. “Good. What can you tell me?”

The man’s body was sagging further against the wall, as if he was in danger of toppling over any second. It was obvious the journey from the sewers had taken its toll. If Gordon didn’t get here in time then they’d both be lugging an unconscious Bane to the police cruiser.

Bane’s eyes narrowed, breathing heavily between his words. “He…did not…include me…in his… _plans_.”

The man’s tone was soaking with bitterness. Johan was about to reply when he saw light bouncing off the tunnel walls to his side. He turned his neck to see a marked police car park itself across the street from the railway opening. Gordon had arrived early.

“There must be something you know,” Johan replied quickly and put his arms back around Bane and urged the man off the wall and down the passageway towards the car. “Who’s been helping Ra’s?”

The boy left out the silent acknowledgement: _Since you obviously haven’t, Bane._

“Barsad,” the man rasped weakly. “He…survived.”

 _Shit,_ Johan realized as they neared the tunnel entrance. _I had no idea there were League members still around. Those that weren’t apprehended or killed by the GCPD fled – it was a great shame for them that their plan had failed. No one would have stayed to bask in his or her failure, especially since Talia, the leader of the League, had died…_

… _Or at least that’s what I assumed,_ Johan thought with frustration. _I’d been too busy tracking down Blackgate escapees that League members were all but forgotten. How could I have been so stupid?!_

Johan shook his head in irritation. “Any others?”

“No,” Bane wheezed.

“Will Barsad still finish Ra’s' plan even though he’s dead now?”

The man heaved in and out before answering, “Why…would he…not?”

 _Shit_ , Johan thought. _It was worth a try to think otherwise._

“Well that’s not all bad,” the boy said. “That means I only have one person to track down.”

The boy felt a gust of warm air as Bane chuckled shallowly next to him. “You…cannot… _track_ Barsad.”

Johan huffed out a breath. “Why not? He can’t be as good at hiding as you.”

“He is… _better_ ,” Bane rasped.

 _We’ll see about that_ , Johan thought with a furrowed brow.

Streetlights erupted overhead as they both exited the railway tunnel. The night sky was clear and the stars were shimmering against the cloudless sky. Were the situation not so dire Johan would have appreciated the view. The parked cruiser was idling at the other side of the street, the engine of the Crown Victoria purring strongly.

The door to the driver’s seat opened as they neared and Gordon emerged. He was still wearing jeans and a t-shirt from earlier that night at the house.

 _Seems like ages ago_ , the boy realized. _I can’t believe it’s only been a few hours since I left tonight._

“Joe, thank goodness you’re okay,” Gordon told Johan with relief as he walked closer to them. “Bullock just told me he got a call about a body, I didn’t know-,”

Gordon stopped walking when he saw Johan’s ‘friend’. The older man stared dumbstruck, his gaze shifting from Bane’s face to the boy’s mask, searching for understanding. Johan continued to pace slowly with Bane at his side and came to a halt in front of Gordon. The Commissioner’s hand went to his sidearm.

“Jim, wait,” Johan said hurriedly, holding out a pacifying hand. “We need his help.”

“What the hell is this, Joe?” Gordon asked with confusion. His arms were raised with his Glock aimed at Bane’s head. At this close range Gordon could easily kill Bane without endangering Johan. The Commissioner’s blue eyes were alight with anger. “Is this…is this man _Bane_?”

“Indeed,” Bane’s voice resounded next to the boy. Gordon’s eyes widened marginally; even without the mask the voice was unmistakable.

Johan continued, “I had no idea he was alive until today, Jim. You’ve got to trust me with this.”

Gordon’s hands didn’t falter, the sign of a seasoned officer. “Trust you with _what_? I don’t understand what’s going on, son.”

“We need him.”

“We do?” the older man asked, his eyebrows rising on his forehead. “Why?”

Johan shifted some of Bane’s weight that had been resting on his arm; his skin was starting to grow tingly from loss of blood flow to the areas supporting the man. Not only was the boy physically uncomfortable, he was also aware of how exposed they were in the middle of the street. However, it was clear that Gordon wasn’t going to let them go anywhere until he was in the loop.

 _Can’t blame Jim_ , the boy figured. _I would want things explained before letting a murdering terrorist into my backseat._

“There’s a rogue League of Shadows member loose in the city, Jim,” the boy explained. “People are going to die if we don’t stop him.”

Gordon stared at Johan. He gestured the gun to Bane. “So why do we need _him_?”

“He can help us find the guy,” Johan told him. “But first we need to get him medicine. He won’t stay conscious much longer without it.”

The boy could see Gordon weighing the options in his mind. Seeing Bane alive was no doubt a huge surprise for the man, as it should be. All things considered, Gordon was handling this whole situation quite well.

"People are in danger?" the older man asked.

Johan nodded. "They are."

Gordon's eyes narrowed on Bane. "And _he's_ not to blame?"

"Not this time," the boy said.

The Commissioner stood still. He removed one hand from the Glock and reached into his back pocket, taking out a pair of handcuffs. He threw them on the ground by the large man’s feet.

“Put them on,” he ordered to Bane. “Joe, step back. He tries anything, I’m taking him down.”

Johan sidestepped and watched as Bane studied the cuffs for a moment before bending down cautiously. He was slow and took his time reaching down and standing back up straight, a grimace of pain on his exposed face. Bane snapped one cuff on and was about to do the same when Gordon interrupted him.

“Turn around and snap them behind your back.”

The huge man’s eyes shimmered as he deliberately turned, placing both hands behind his back and clicking the remaining cuff over his other wrist. Johan watched as Bane then turned around and waited for further instructions, switching his gaze to both the older man and the boy.

Inwardly sighing with relief, the boy thought: _At least he’s doing what he’s told._

After making sure the handcuffs were securely fastened, Gordon glanced back to the car. “Joe, open the back door.”

The boy went to the car and did as he was told, standing by behind the ajar door. Gordon began taking backward steps, never taking his eyes off of Bane; his Glock stayed trained on the man’s skull.

“Now get in the car, Bane – slowly.”

Bane inclined his head. “Of course… _Commissioner_.”

The large man ambled to the cruiser with Gordon’s gun following him the few short steps. Bane looked at Johan standing behind the door before ducking his upper down and awkwardly putting himself in.

“Lock it,” Gordon told Johan. The boy did so and closed the door.

As soon as the he heard the door shut closed Johan heard Gordon let out the breath he had been holding. He re-holstered his sidearm as Johan approached him.

“Jim,” he began, pleading with the annoyed expression on the older man’s face, “I didn’t tell you it was Bane because I knew you wouldn’t come.”

Gordon’s eyes were icy. “I would have come, son. But I would have brought the entire SWAT team with me!” he said heatedly. “Forget the Batcave - we’re taking him to the station. _Now_.”

“We can’t,” Johan urged as he grabbed Jim’s forearm. The boy turned his head side to side to check there were no witnesses before tugging off his mask, allowing Gordon to see his eyes. “Bane won’t talk to the police, you know that.”

“Then what do you suggest? Bane won’t talk to you and most certainly not to _me_ ,” he said while pointing to the backseat. “He tried to kill me _twice_ already, Joe!”

Johan felt guilty. He knew that Bane had tried to murder Gordon: once in the sewers, the other in the hospital right after the underground bombs went off.

The boy let go of Gordon’s arm and let his gaze wander over the older man’s face. “I’m sorry I have to ask this of you, Jim. But we can’t take him back to the police.”

Gordon’s shoulders sagged and he huffed in frustration. “He won’t talk to us, son.”

“He will. He’s agreed to in exchange for pain medication.”

“You can’t tell me you believe that man’s word,” Gordon said in disbelief, his head shaking.

Johan nodded, his golden eyes steadfast. “I do. Bane does what he says he will.”

The Commissioner’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? You know what this man did, Joe. You can’t trust him.”

“Then trust _me_ , Jim. This is the only way we can prevent innocent people from dying. We need to go to the Batcave. All the necessary supplies are there.”

The boy knew that it was a cheap shot, but he also knew that Gordon couldn’t say ‘no’ when the lives of Gotham’s citizens were at stake. No matter what the Commissioner felt about Bane or this entire situation, he had to put those feelings aside and pursue the greater good of the city. The older man was in a position for which Johan knew he had no other option.

Johan saw as Gordon craned his neck to the cruiser; Bane was still locked in the backseat, watching their discussion through the window with weary interest. The large man’s eyelids were drooping; he was fighting to stay awake.

“He won’t give us much trouble,” the boy told Gordon. “He’s in a lot of pain.”

Gordon pushed up his glasses as he continued to stare at Bane. “He does look terrible.”

“He was being held captive in a room.”

“The smell about him is awful,” Gordon observed; his nose crinkled.

“Yeah, I know. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

“He could still overpower us, Joe. At least at the station we’d have some help.”

“We _do_ have help.”

The older man tore his gaze off Bane, his eyebrow raised in interest. “Do you have a friend I don’t know about?”

Johan smiled in amusement. “He’s more of our… _partner_.”

“I don’t understand, son.”

“Bruce,” the boy stated. He watched as the words sunk in. Gordon’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but he said nothing.

 _I’m with you, Jim_ , the boy thought. _I was just as surprised to see the guy._

“Bruce is alive,” Johan said. “He’s down in the Batcave. He can assist us with Bane.”

The Commissioner blinked slowly. “Bruce Wayne? He’s…here in Gotham?”

“You got it.”

“But… _how_?”

“You can ask him yourself,” Johan told the Commissioner and strode to the passenger door. “Let’s get to the docks first. I don’t know how much time we have left.”

The older man stood still with a frown on his face for a few moments before stepping close to Johan; he had a concerned look on his face.

“Joe…” he began with hesitation, his tone low so that their backseat passenger couldn’t eavesdrop. “You…you’re telling me the truth about all of this? Bruce Wayne is really alive?” The man cleared his throat. “There is also a threat to the city? Plus, on top of all of that, _Bane_ is going to help us?”

The man was peering down at the boy with his eyes clear and focused. Johan nodded in return.

“It’s all true, Jim. Every word.”

“I must be dreaming.”

“Nope, you’re definitely awake.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“We can do this,” Johan offered with a small smile. “I know this all sounds crazy, but Gotham needs us.”

 _Then I can take a long nap,_ Johan thought tiredly. _I’ve seen too many people come back from the dead today. Probably not good for my psyche in the long run…_

A siren echoed softly in the distance, a few blocks over. As surreal as this night has been, with Ra’s al Ghul, Bane, and the Dark Knight all rising from the grave, life in the city carried on as usual. The citizens of Gotham, both adults and children, were asleep in their beds, ready to wake up and enjoy their day of work, school and whatever happiness they had in store. It made Johan’s chest ache that that was now in jeopardy.

Johan looked to Gordon with imploring eyes. “Please, Gordon. I don’t think we have much time left.”

The Commissioner steeled his jaw in acceptance. His eyes softened. “Then we better get going.”

Johan barely contained a happy whoop; having Gordon wholly on his side tonight was bound to be a huge asset. The man walked briskly to the driver door and pulled it open. “Buckle up, son.”

The boy sat down in the passenger seat as Gordon plopped behind the wheel. As he buckled his seat belt Johan glanced into the rearview mirror and saw Bane watching him from the back. Johan’s gold eyes returned the man’s stare for a moment before diverting their gaze. The Commissioner shifted gears and the police car drifted down the street on its path to Gotham Bay.

The car ride was a bit awkward to say the least. The boy had looked in the mirror once again but Bane was apparently drifting into unconsciousness, his eyes closed and shoulders slumped forward. Luckily the roads were close to empty this time of night; only taxis and a few stray cars were on the highway as the cruiser sped along, veering to the right when their exit approached. He and Gordon had been silent, the older man’s jaw tensing now and again.

“What happened to him?” the man prompted, ending the uncomfortable silence. If an embarrassing situation meant having an elephant in the room, then having Bane in the backseat was like having a mammoth stuffed into a janitor’s closet.

Johan looked over to Gordon. “He was being kept prisoner.”

“By who?”

“Ra’s al Ghul.”

“That man died,” the Commissioner said with a creased brow. “Over ten years ago, now.”

The boy peeled off his gloves and laid them in his seat, staring straight ahead at the white lines flashing below them on the asphalt. “That’s what we all thought. Bruce had no idea he survived.”

The right blinker clicked as Gordon changed lanes. “And Ra’s al Ghul is threatening Gotham?”

“Not him. He died tonight. One of his followers is finishing his work.”

“Died?” Gordon asked, taking his eyes off the road to look at the boy. “Does this have to do with the call Bullock got earlier?”

Johan nodded. Gordon returned his gaze away and back to the windshield; the muscles on the side of the man’s face tensed.

“I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence,” Gordon said. “That’s the same street that perp died at two days ago.”

The boy’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter. He turned his torso to stare closely at the man. “Victor Cowell? You saw the file?”

Gordon nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “When you left so suddenly tonight, I knew you must have seen something. I went to look at the box of files I brought home. Cowell’s was on the top.”

Without moving the steering wheel, Gordon leaned over and opened the passenger side glove box. He grabbed the familiar manila file and dropped it on Johan’s lap.

The man snapped the compartment closed and returned to sit behind the wheel. “Read the last page.”

Johan’s gold eyes stared at the folder for a moment. This was it, the case file that started the entire whirlwind of tonight’s events. Because he had randomly plucked this file from the box, he had gone to the scene of Cowell’s murder and had become a murderer himself. He had inadvertently fallen directly into Ra’s al Ghul’s plan to draw him out.

 _And it was all because I thought I was going to see Bane again_ , the boy thought with no small amount of shame. _I should have approached the situation with more care. If I had, I may not have had to kill Ra’s…_

He slowly opened the file, flipping through the police notes and crime scene photos until he reached the last page. On the top was the title in bold lettering:

**_WITNESS STATEMENT #59274 – V. R. Cowell_**

The statement was dated the day Cowell had been shot; it was that November night many months ago when Johan had met the masked man. The page itself was crumpled and folded with what looked to be a coffee stain in the top corner. The boy began to read, his gold eyes gliding over the page:

_Witness #59274 Victor Robert Cowell states he was walking past the corner of 33 rd Street and 7th Avenue when two assailants attacked him. Perpetrator #1 is a male, large build, bald, age middle 30s to 40s and height over six feet all. Was wearing motorcycle jacket with military type pants. Witness states perpetrator #1 had on a type of head mask and had a distinct voice. Witness states Perpetrator #1 shot him. Perpetrator #2 is a young male, small build with average height, light brown hair, and age late teens to early 20s. Witness states after he was shot, Perpetrator #2 mugged him before they both left the scene._

_Witness #59274 hereby signs to ensure and verify the correctness of the above._

Cowell’s scratchy signature followed below the statement.

Johan closed the file. Overall it was a shoddy summary of the events from that night. In general the detective in charge of the case probably knew that Cowell was a drug money runner for the mafia. Odds were the assault on Cowell was never investigated at all. Of course, the Occupation had begun less than a week later. If the cops were planning on finding Cowell’s shooter, those plans were put on hold by the police force being trapped underground.

He turned to Gordon. The man saw that Johan was done reading but stared straight ahead.

 _Jim knows the kid in this report, Perpetrator #2, is me_ , the boy knew. _And he’s smart enough to put together who Perpetrator #1 is…_

The Commissioner steered the police car down an off-ramp and came to a stop at a red light. Johan recognized the intersection; the docks were only a few blocks away.

“Jim, I can explain,” the boy started weakly. “I didn’t mug Cowell that night-,”

The older man cut him off. “So you admit the boy is you?”

“It was me, but I can explain every-,”

Gordon interrupted him with harsh laugh. “Stop, Joe, just _stop_.” Johan became quiet as the light turned green and the older man eased on the gas. The man was shaking his head but refusing to look at the boy. “I know you didn’t _mug_ the man. That much is obviously a fabrication on Cowell’s part. The man was a known lackey for the mob.”

The man was clenching the steering wheel now, his knuckles pale. “But what I don’t understand is how you _lied_ to me and told me you were out of the country during and _before_ the Occupation. And better yet, you _knew_ Bane? You said you never met the man!”

The man’s tone was increasing audibly with each sentence. Gordon was angry; even more so, he felt betrayed. Johan had omitted telling Gordon the truth, and now he was paying the price.

“I didn’t _‘know’_ Bane, Jim,” Johan defended himself. His cheeks were flushed from Gordon’s chastisement but he refused to raise his own voice. “That night was the first time I ever met him.”

Gordon was traveling down the road a little faster than needed. “And what happened that night?”

“It was the night of the Stock Exchange incident. I tried to stop him,” the boy told the Commissioner. Johan glimpsed the rearview mirror; thankfully Bane seemed to be unaware of their conversation. The large man’s face was nudged against the window, his forehead leaving a trail of grime on the clean glass; his eyes were still closed and he seemed to be dozing.

“So now I know you were here before the Occupation,” the older man said, finally meeting Johan’s gaze since the boy had read the file. His eyes were full of suspicion and anger. “What were you doing _during_ it, then? There was no sign of the Shadow anywhere. Gotham needed you, son.” He paused. “ _I_ needed you. You left us.”

The boy had lived with Gordon for six months now; he knew the depths of emotions in the Commissioner’s eyes. Along with the suspicion and anger was a twinge of fear. Fear of what the truth might bring.

John swallowed dryly. “I…I was in Gotham, Jim.”

“You weren’t,” the man asserted. “Or if you were, you didn’t come find me or any other free police officers.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I was…confined.”

They were nearing the docks; Johan could already see the powerful sodium lights approaching.

Gordon wasn’t about to let Johan skimp on any information. “Confined? By who?”

“Take a look behind you.”

The car was half a block away from the chain link fence to the shipping yard when the brakes squealed against the asphalt. Johan felt his neck buck as his body flung forward. A loud _chink_ noise rung out and Johan heard the grunt as Bane smacked against the metal divider. Gordon seemed to be only one not baffled by the quick stop since he was the one who slammed on the brake pedal. His focused gaze was boring into Johan as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

“You were with _Bane_?” Gordon asked incredulously.

Johan nodded silently, staring at the dashboard. He didn’t want to meet the man’s eyes.

“But _why_ , son?” the man insisted. He leaned toward the boy and took each arm in hand, squeezing not so lightly on Johan’s biceps. “Were you his prisoner?”

“In a way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The boy met Gordon’s confused stare. “I was like his prisoner.” A pause. “I had to be.”

The older man shook his head in doubt. “ ‘ _Had_ _to be_ ’? Couldn’t you escape?”

Johan’s cheeks flushed. He responded, “No. I made a deal not to.”

Under Gordon’s breath Johan heard the muttered words _deal_ and _had to_. When the man finally spoke up it was full of confusion. “What in God’s name are you talking about, son?”

The boy didn’t know how to respond. He had basically had this same conversation with Bruce a short time ago; Johan wasn't ready for a repeat round. It just so happened that this time someone was there to answer for him.

“He _saved_ …Mr. Wayne.”

The shaky voice from the backseat reverberated in the tense atmosphere in the car. Johan turned to find Bane slouching against the cushioned seat, his head lolling against the headrest. An angry red mark stretched across his forehead, most likely from when he slammed against the unrelenting divider when the car suddenly halted.

“You should…be _grateful_ …Commissioner,” Bane wheezed.

The older man was staring at Bane with nothing less than disorientation; he looked like the breath had been knocked out of him. Gordon turned to Johan as if in a daze, waiting for an explanation.

Johan grabbed one of the Commissioner’s hands over his own forearm and gave it a light press.

“I’ll explain everything, Jim. But _please_ , let’s get to the docks. It’ll be safer there.”

The older man’s face was suddenly pale. “You were his captive the whole time?”

“I was.”

“For _five_ _months_?”

“Yes, Jim.”

The man’s eyes widened. “In God’s name, _why_?”

“ _Please_ ,” Johan pleaded with the older man. “We need to get underground. It’s not safe for us to be exposed like this.”

 _Barsad could be anywhere_ , Johan thought. _I have to assume he wants us dead. After all, we all are a risk to Ra’s scheme._

Bane coughed in the back seat. The loud noise startled Gordon who took his eyes off Johan and stared solemnly at the passenger in the rearview mirror.

“The boy…” Bane rasped, “is right. We need…to move.”

The Commissioner clenched his jaw and said nothing. After a few pregnant seconds the car began rolling to the security fence of the docks. As the car idled up to the entrance Johan quickly slid out and punched in the security code. The gates glided open and Gordon moved the car forward as soon as Johan was back in the passenger seat. Less than a minute later they were outside the designated Wayne Enterprises shipping container; Gordon turned off the car.

As the older man was getting out the vehicle, Johan placed a short call to Bruce in the chamber beneath their feet.

“Package is incoming,” Johan said quietly through the communicator.

Bruce’s voice replied immediately. “Package?”

"I have Bane."

"What?" Bruce asked loudly. "Joe, I told you to call me if-,"

"That's what I'm doing now."

Johan could hear the man's steps as he walked around the Batcave, preparing for action no doubt. "It's not wise to bring him here. Contact Gordon, tell him-"

"Gordon's with me."

" _What?_ "

“You and I both know the GCPD will get nothing out of him. This has to be done outside police jurisdiction."

"And Gordon _agreed_ to this?"

"He did."

"Don't know how you persuaded him," the man remarked dryly.

"Trust me, Bruce. This is the only way. We're coming down."

Bruce sighed loudly on the other end. “Fine. I’ll have the sleepers for Bane ready.” Sleepers, code name: tranquilizers.

 _Doesn’t hurt to be safe_ , Johan figured. “Over and out, Bats.” He turned to Gordon who was waiting a few paces behind. “Unlock the door, Jim.”

The mechanical click sounded in the boy’s ears as he walked to the backseat. He opened the door and held it open as Bane waited on the seat; the large man was standing by for instructions.

 _That’s a good sign_ , the boy thought. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gordon with a ready hand over his Glock.

“Get out and stand up slowly,” the boy ordered Bane; the man did as told. Without a word both of them assumed their walking positions from earlier with Johan supporting the man under his good shoulder, the one not wrapped in dirty gauze. “Now walk in step with me – we’re going inside this building.”

They both treaded carefully to the locked door, Bane still panting heavily even though he had rested in back during the short car ride. Johan put his hand out and tapped the code on the keypad.

“Gordon, could you…” Johan implied to the man. Gordon understood and paced from his spot behind them and opened the door. The Commissioner went in first and turned on the lights. The three men entered and Johan told Gordon to pick up the telephone.

“Dial 7-1-1,” Johan instructed.

The underground gears began to turn as the floor moved downward. Gordon held onto the desk and Johan planted his feet further apart to support Bane’s swaying body.

“Amazing,” Gordon whispered as they drifted lower into the earth. The Commissioner knew that the docks were where Johan went to prepare for each nightly patrol, but the boy had never actually brought the man here.

“Indeed,” rumbled the voice of Bane in the darkness.

The platform soon emerged in the cavernous room and the bright lights made Johan’s eyes squint in discomfort. Gordon was pivoting his upper body to view the entire room, his mouth slightly open in awe. Expecting to hear a comment from Bane, the boy glanced up to see the larger man’s eyes squeezed shut, his neck craned to the cement ground.

 _He needs medicine_ , Johan knew. _He’s fading fast._

With a resounding _clunk_ , the platform fell into place and Johan heard footsteps approaching. Bruce was striding towards them, tranquilizer gun at the ready by his hip.

“Cuff him to the gurney,” the younger man said.

The boy tugged at Bane’s torso and led him to the metal bed, the same gurney he had woken up in over a year ago when he first saw the Batcave. The larger man went clumsily to the gurney and Johan guided his backside against the hard edge; he pushed down on the man’s good shoulder and Bane obediently sat.

Johan turned to Gordon. “Keys?”

The Commissioner was staring at Bruce; he made no indication that he heard the boy.

Bruce smiled slyly. “Jim? Do you have the keys?”

Shaking his head out of his astonishment at seeing Bruce alive, Gordon reached into his jean pocket and chucked the small key ring to the boy. Bruce held the tranquilizer at the ready as Johan undid one of Bane’s cuffs.

“Lie down, Bane,” the boy said as he pushed down on the man’s chest.

Bane moaned as he lowered his upper body while simultaneously raising his legs onto the gurney. Deftly the boy reattached the free loop of the cuffs to a metal hoop on the side of the gurney, a feature used for restraints. Johan walked to the other side of the cot and removed a plastic cuff from his suit and wrapped it around Bane’s other wrist before attaching it to the other loop. He stepped back and surveyed his handiwork; the large man was now effectively tied down to the gurney with both arms restrained at his side by his hips against the hard table. Bane’s eyes were closed and he was breathing in shallow gulps.

 _He won’t be going anywhere_ , Johan thought. _Now to get some medicine…_

The boy walked over to the supply cabinets by the large refrigerator. Usually Bruce stored pain medication for when a knife or bullet managed to squeeze between the spots in his Kevlar suit that were unprotected.

“What’re you looking for?” Bruce asked.

“Morphine.”

The vigilante’s green eyes were shaded. “He doesn’t deserve any.”

“I can’t question him without it.”

“ _I_ can,” Bruce stated darkly.

Johan had already dug through the first drawer and moved onto the second, his hands shoving gauze and IV tubing to the side to view all the supplies hidden underneath.

 _Where the hell is it?_ Johan wondered. _I saw it here last week…_

That’s when Johan stopped looking; he sighed. The boy quietly shut the drawer and looked to Bruce.

“Where did you put it?” he asked the man tensely. Bruce simply stared at him.

“He needs it, Bruce,” Johan said in irritation. “Without it he won’t be able to stay conscious.”

Bruce still stayed silent and walked to the Bat-Computer. He put down the tranquilizer gun on the counter and sat in the swivel chair before the large technical machine. The green eyes studied the form on the gurney, hostility evident in their glare.

“I figured he wouldn’t have his mask,” Bruce declared slowly. He looked to the boy. “He deserves this pain.”

Johan’s hands bunched into fists. “I don’t disagree with you. But we need to get him morphine _for now_. When all this is over you can do as you see fit, Bruce.”

“Ahem.”

Both vigilantes broke their heated stares to see Gordon still situated near the rising platform. The older man took some hesitant steps towards the two crime fighters.

“Why does he need it?” Gordon inquired. “The morphine, I mean.”

Johan saw Bruce look back at him with a frown before answering Gordon. “Without the mask he’s in constant pain, Jim.”

The Commissioner studied Bane’s quiet form. “He just looks tired to me.”

“It’s more than that,” Johan explained. “He can barely move because the pain is so bad.” He returned Bruce’s own glare. “He needs morphine so he can help us.”

The older man nodded. “Mr. Wayne, I-,”

“You can call me ‘Bruce’, Jim.”

“I see,” Gordon said. “Bruce, then. I think that Joe is right. Bane doesn’t deserve to be spared pain. Far from it, in my opinion.” He took a step closer. “But we need to put aside our feelings for the man. At least until this whole charade is over.”

Bruce’s lips pursed into a thin line as he hunched over in the chair while his elbows rested on his thighs. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

“Joe,” he said tiredly. “I don’t understand you.”

Johan’s eyes narrowed. “Understand what?”

The younger man blew out a strong puff of air. “How you can be so… _civil_. After what he did to you.”

“He didn’t torture me, Bruce.”

 _And torture is exactly what I would be doing if I left Bane in his present state,_ the boy thought darkly.

Bruce laughed scathingly in the open chamber. “So rape is acceptable now, is it?” The man stood from his chair and strode quickly to Johan, stopping right in front of the boy. He bent his head low to stare into the boy’s golden eyes. “He used you, Joe! He doesn’t give a damn about you!”

“I don’t care what he thinks!” Johan yelled, his cheeks flushed and nostrils flaring. “He has information and giving him morphine is the best way to get it from him.”

“I’ll beat it out of him,” Bruce said furiously.

Johan’s eyes were glowing with indignation. “Then you’re worse than him,” the boy said, thrusting a hand in Bane’s direction.

The expression on Bruce’s face looked as if the boy had physically slapped him. The man took a step backwards, like the distance would prevent him from doing something he would regret.

“You can’t mean that,” Bruce said dangerously, his pupils dilated in rage. His voice was a low growl and made the boy’s hairs stand on end.

“He didn’t treat me badly, Bruce,” the boy said.

“He _fucked_  you, Joe! He made you allow him to do it!”

Johan shook his head in denial. “Bane didn’t make me – I _let_ him, for _your_ life. If you can’t get over that, then too bad.”

The boy stepped close to Bruce, never breaking eye contact. “Now. Where. Is. The. _Morphine_?”

They stared at each other for some time, Bruce’s chest heaving in anger and Johan’s stare never deviating from the man’s face. Without another word, the man pivoted and briskly went to the Bat-Computer, bending down to open a built-in file cabinet. He silently flung a box into the air towards Johan; the boy had to lunge forward to catch it.

“Do what you want,” Bruce said in a dismissive tone, not making eye contact with the boy. The man sat down in the chair and began typing furiously at the keyboard.

Johan stared at the back of the brunette’s head for a moment before going to the storage cabinets. He dug through the equipment before heading to the metal gurney.

 _Fine,_ the boy thought angrily. _Bruce can throw his own little tantrum._

In his arms he had the box of morphine vials, IV tubing as well as a start kit, a bag of normal saline, a needle, a syringe, and a state-of-the-art infusion pump. This pump was special; normally a bulky box is needed to move liquid solutions at the desired rate and volume through intravenous tubing into a person’s body. However, thanks to Lucius, the usual toaster-sized equipment was exchanged for a newer prototype; it was the size of a cigarette lighter. With this tiny machine, no traditional pole for securing the infusion pump was needed – the small box could be attached, along with the IV medication, to the person on the receiving end. Gravity wasn’t necessary since the tiny machine was powerful enough to draw out the medicine on its own.

 _Fox’s gadget is much more practical that wheeling around an IV pole,_ Johan knew. _I have lots of personal experience with that – definitely not fun. They’re easy to trip over, too…_

Johan put the supplies on an empty part of table near Bane’s feet. The man was still breathing shallowly and his eyes were closed. Carefully he lifted the cardboard lid of the box and took out a morphine vial. He attached a needle to the syringe and plunged it into the vial; quickly he sucked up the morphine sulfate. When done that step, he pushed the needle into the bag of normal saline and pushed in the morphine to dilute it. The boy then primed the IV tubing, watching as the clear solution traveled down the thin sliver of tubing until it reached the end. 

Grabbing the IV starter kit, the boy tapped on Bane’s shoulder. The gray eyes opened halfway, hovering lazily over Johan’s face.

“I’m going to put a needle in,” he informed the man. Bane mildly tilted his chin in acceptance.

With steady hands Johan found a vein in the man’s inner elbow. He wiped off the grime with an alcohol swap and stuck him quickly. He attached the new IV site to the morphine tubing.

“Hey,” Johan said gently and squeezed the man’s arm. The gray eyes were still open, gazing tiredly at the boy. “How much medication were you getting with the mask? I have morphine hooked up now.”

The man’s eyes closed shut in concentration, as if the memory of his mask was difficult to grasp. After a delay Bane replied quietly, “Fifteen milligrams…”

Johan's eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Every three to four hours?” the boy prompted.

“Every…. _hour_.”

"Are you serious?"

"I am."

 _Holy shit,_ Johan thought to himself. _How was Bane able to breathe, let alone kick my ass? That much morphine is deadly. I guess he built up so much tolerance to the stuff…_

The boy grabbed the pump and set the rate. _I’ll start with half that per hour – no need for Bane to get too comfortable._

He set the bag of diluted morphine, along with the rest of the tubing and infusion pump, at the end of the gurney. Leaning over the man, Johan stared into Bane’s eyes.

“I’ll give that some time to take the edge off,” he directed firmly. “After that, you’re going to tell me everything you know.”

“I…do not…” Bane rasped weakly, “know…much.”

“I don’t care, Bane. Just tell me everything.”

The man closed his eyes to take advantage of the small reprieve Johan was allowing him. “As…you wish.”

Johan blinked down at the resting man. Bane’s face was relaxed as he dozed. The boy’s golden eyes stole a moment to rake over the man’s still foreign appearance.

 _He’s actually kind of…good-looking,_ the boy thought to himself with mild surprise. _Why did he hide his face? There are other ways to keep his pain at bay…_

The noise of Gordon clearing is throat broke Johan’s attention. When the boy saw the Commissioner’s face, his heart broke.

 _This is why I couldn’t tell him before_ , Johan reasoned. _Jim…_

Gordon was completely wrecked. The man had listened to Bruce and Johan’s argument; he had heard what Bane had done. The words ‘ _rape’_ and ‘ _fuck_ ’ had bounced around in the cavernous room and fallen on the unaware ears of Jim Gordon. Not until Gordon had read Victor Cowell’s file tonight did the man even discover that Johan had crossed paths with Bane. What was more, Gordon had just learned in the police cruiser that Johan had stayed with the man during the entire Occupation. That news had obviously been hard for Jim to swallow.

Then the mammoth in the janitor’s closet had blown up. Johan hadn’t told Gordon about his captivity with Bane because he didn’t want the older man feeling sorry for him; the last thing he wanted was for Gordon to treat him like fragile glass. As Johan stared at the man now, the Commissioner’s blue eyes were drowning in concern and hurt.

“Tell me why,” Gordon said softly.

Johan’s mouth was stale. “I had to, Jim.”

“ _Why_?” he demanded harshly.

The boy looked to the Bat-Computer; Bruce was still busy at the desk, typing codes and completing searches through several databases. But even though he looked busy, Johan knew he was listening to every word between he and Jim. The boy turned to Jim again.

“To save Bruce’s life.”

The older man’s lips were trembling. “Was it worth him _raping_ you, son?”

“Bruce is alive, isn’t he?”

“No one should have to go through that for anyone. Not even if it’s the Batman.”

“It wasn’t just for him, Jim. Because Bane spared Bruce’s life, Batman was able to come back and save the city. I had no idea at the time but if I had escaped from Bane prematurely then Talia may have used the detonator. Bruce coming back to Gotham is the only solution that would have worked. So yes, it was _worth_ being fucked by Bane,” Johan told the Commissioner while pointing at Bane’s horizontal form.

Gordon shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, son. I…I had no idea…”

“Don’t be sorry, Jim,” he told the man quickly. “Even if you knew there was nothing you could do.”

 _It’s not like I could walk into a counselor’s office and start divulging information about Bane and my secret identity as the Shadow,_ Johan knew. _The best thing to do was keep it to myself._

“Did _he_ allow this?” the older man asked. He nudged his head towards Bruce’s back.

“No. I went with Bane without Bruce’s knowledge.”

Gordon studied the boy closely. “How bad was it, son? You can tell me.”

“It was okay. Bane wasn’t terrible.”

“It’s hard for me to believe that,” Gordon said with worry. “He forced himself on you, didn’t he?”

“I _agreed_ to it, Jim,” the boy explained in exasperation. “We made a deal.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “It sounds like you’re defending him.”

“I’m not.”

“You were his victim, Joe. It’s okay to admit that.”

“I wasn’t!” Johan countered loudly. The raised tone only made Gordon’s concern on his face deepen. The boy took a few calming breaths and continued. “I always had control. I could have left if I really had to.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Bruce would have been killed if I did.”

“And Gotham would have wiped off the earth,” Gordon added.

The boy nodded. “Yes.”

“You saved us,” Gordon stated.

“I did what I had to.”

The man’s eyes softened. “Thank you, son.”

The statement was so simple. And yet it wasn’t.

By the way Gordon said the words, Johan knew this wasn’t just a normal ‘ _thank you’_. It was full of so much appreciation that Johan sensed what Gordon meant deep in his soul. The man meant ‘ _thank you for what you sacrificed’_ and ‘ _thank you for saving Gotham’_ and ‘ _thank you for saving me_.”

Before Johan could comprehend the action, Gordon walked over and embraced him in a tight hug. The Commissioner’s arms held on to him firmly, like he was conveying all of his emotions through his skin, muscles, and bone. Johan was stiff for a moment before melting into the man’s warm body. It was the first time he had ever been hugged by this man, the person he viewed as a father. It was wonderful. The feeling was different from being held by Bruce; this embrace was imbued with pride that was radiating from the man.

“I owe you my life,” Gordon spoke into the boy’s hair from above. “Along with the rest of Gotham.” The man took a step back and held the boy an arm’s length away. Tears were streaming down his weary face, but his smile showed that they were tears of thankfulness.

Johan’s gold eyes followed a tear as it trailed down Gordon’s cheek.

The boy shattered inside.

_It wasn’t for nothing._

Blood covered sheets. Purple bruises on his hips. Sweat soaking his face.

_It wasn’t for nothing._

Fists cracking a rib. A thumb brushing his lips. Hands crushing his neck.

_It wasn’t for nothing._

Hissing in his ears. Gray eyes crinkling. The cold metal knife.

_It was worth it. For Bruce. For Gordon. For Gotham._

The cry that escaped from Johan’s mouth was one of relief. It was part moan, part sob. His shoulders strained up and down as he buried his face into Gordon’s chest. The man embraced him close once again as tears flowed freely down the boy’s face, soaking into Gordon’s t-shirt. If it wasn't for Gordon supporting him Johan would have collapsed to the floor from unadulterated emotional release.

Six months of staring at the Van Gogh on the wall, trying to forget what had happened and failing miserably. He tried to convince himself that he was strong enough to ignore what he had gone through, that it didn’t affect him. Before this night, with Bruce and Gordon, he had never even spoken Bane’s name out loud, let alone _talk_ about what he had been through. So long had he gone without confronting those five months of captivity that he had begun to doubt their existence, as if it had all taken place inside his head. That it wasn’t reality.

But it _was_ reality. It had happened. And now the floodgates were open. Because he had shoved those five months as Bane’s personal slave to the outskirts of his mind, he also had pushed the good he had done. Shame and regret had clouded over the greater good of his labors.

He had helped save Gotham. No amount of blood or pain could erase that. Johan just hadn’t fully realized that before this moment.

The boy repeated the silent mantra once more. _It was worth it._

Johan continued to sob and Gordon made soothing noises against his ear, a warm hand cradling the back of the boy’s head.

“It’s okay, son,” hushed the man as he brushed a hand through Johan’s hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

For the first time in almost a year, Johan believed that statement. The boy had been lost in a dark place, only now emerging from the murk. Seeing the expression of thankfulness and appreciation on Gordon’s face brought Johan an overwhelming sense of closure. Bruce had thanked him, yes; but Gordon had allowed the boy to let loose all of his pent-up feelings.

 _Who knew I just needed a fatherly hug_ , Johan thought with sarcasm as he wiped the bottom of his reddened nose.

Gordon sighed deeply, rubbing circles on the boy’s back. “I need to apologize, son.”

Johan’s brow was creased in confusion. “For what?”

“Earlier, in the car. I was angry that you didn’t help us. That you weren’t there…” He paused and his voice was shaking. “Now I know how wrong I truly was.”

When Johan didn’t reply, Gordon began to chuckle lightly. Johan looked up to see the man staring down fondly at him.

“Had I known all this before I would have saved you some lo mein from dinner.”

Johan blinked. Then he couldn’t help the stupid grin on his own face. Gordon seemed to notice his own tears and wiped them off with the back of his hand; he was still smiling at Johan.

“He always did eat all the Chinese takeout,” Bruce said quietly. The man had turned in his chair to face them; his expression was guarded. The tranquilizer gun was back in his grip.

Gordon and Johan broke their hug and the boy wiped his face dry with his sleeve.

“I hate to interrupt,” the vigilante said apologetically, “but you have an extra audience member.”

On the gurney, the large man had craned his next to watch the boy and Gordon’s exchange. Even with their haziness, Johan saw the gray eyes glittering with interest.

 _Great_ , Johan sighed inwardly.   _Just I wanted Bane to see: me crying like a baby and getting my snot on Gordon’s shirt._

“I have never seen you weep, Joseph," the man said.

 _He’s already breathing much better,_ the boy observed. _And he’s speaking easier. Good – we can start questioning him._

Johan shot the man a glare. He paced to the gurney, aware that his eyes were probably still puffy, red, and not very intimidating. “You seem well enough to answer questions.”

The man’s eyes focused on Johan’s eyes. “You do not.”

“What?”

Bane stayed flat on the table and made no move to sit up. “You are distressed,” he stated.

“No, actually. I feel good.”

“But you were crying,” Bane pointed out.

 _I guess in prison people don’t learn the subtleties of emotions,_ the boy figured.

“People can cry when they’re happy, Bane,” Johan said impatiently.

Bane’s gaze narrowed. “Interesting…”

 _Enough of this_ , the boy thought. “What’s Ra’s’ plan, Bane?”

This time the man tried to sit up, lifting his head and neck, but decided against it after wincing in pain. He opted to continue their conversation from his flat position.

“Three buildings will be destroyed,” he informed the boy.

“How?”

“By explosives. Barsad was the one I put in charge to place the bombs beneath Gotham’s infrastructure. He is quite… _talented_. Ra's decided to put Barsad's expertise to use.”

The boy saw Bruce stand from his chair and approach the gurney, standing by Johan’s side. The green eyes were sparkling in anger. “Which buildings?”

The large man’s lips twitched as he studied the vigilante. “You look well, Mr. Wayne.”

“Answer me,” Bruce growled. “Or I’ll tear out that morphine from your arm.”

“I do not know,” Bane said as he turned to Johan with a grin. “I informed Joseph that Ra’s al Ghul did not tell me much of his plans.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “Why?” 

“He was… _disappointed_ with my performance.” Bane licked his dry lips. “And I had not been in his confidence for quite some time.” The metal handcuff rattled as the man jerked his wrist against the gurney. “Barsad will now finish Ra’s’ plans in his recent absence.”

“What’s the timeframe on this plan?” Gordon asked. He had stepped up to Johan’s other side. “How long before these buildings blow?”

Bane looked at the three of them, his eyes moving sluggishly. “You have until morning.”

 _Shit_ , Johan realized. “Define, ‘morning’ exactly.”

The gray eyes roved over Johan’s face. “When the most Gothamites will be in the vicinity.”

“So businesses then? Or city buildings?” Gordon suggested.

Bruce hummed aloud. “Probably ones that could be seen as symbols, like the Mayor’s office, City Hall, courthouse. Those types of state buildings.”

Johan nodded towards the Commissioner. “Ra’s told me you were one of his targets…” Johan closed his eyes, bringing forth the earlier scene.

_“The people I will target deserve death. I will eradicate them and the structures that house their sordidness,” Ra’s declared._

_I thought Ra’s was just going to assassinate people,_ Johan figured. _But he actually meant the buildings that the people stood for. So that means if he wanted to kill Jim…_

“The Police Headquarters,” Johan declared out loud. “It’s one of the three buildings.”

Gordon gave Johan a steely gaze. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You need to get a bomb squad in there to start searching.”

The information hung in the air. Lifting up his wrist Johan checked the digital watch. It was 03:56 - not much time left before the day began.

Bruce had his arms folded against his chest. “If he’s targeting public buildings then business hours would be when they’re full occupancy.”

“So around eight o’clock, then?” Johan supplied. “That’s when places like City Hall open up.”

“Nine at the latest, if Bane is right…” Bruce said with dark eyes, staring at the man on the gurney.

 _Three buildings going off that soon?_ The boy thought with apprehension. _It’d be impossible to find out which ones to dismantle the bombs in time. We may know one, but two are still unknown. So now what?_

“How can you know about the timeframe?” Bruce questioned the large man below him, his voice laced with suspicion. “You said Ra’s didn’t tell you his plans.”

Bane gave Bruce a scathing glare, daring the vigilante to question him one more time.

Bane licked his chapped lips. “Surely by now Barsad will know that Joseph has killed his leader. He will waste no time in completing his master’s wishes. To do so would be foolish on his part.”

There was a cough of surprise to Johan’s right side; Gordon’s eyes were wide in astonishment. His head was switching back and forth from the boy to the man on the gurney.

“Son…you…you _what_?”

The boy was about to open his mouth when Bruce cut in.

“It was self-defense, Jim,” the man said with an apologetic look to Johan. “Joe informed me earlier. There was nothing he could do.”

 _Never thought I’d see Bruce defending me about this_ , the boy thought with relief.

Johan took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Jim. It was Ra’s or me. I tried-,”

The older man’s palm lifted up gently to still Johan while his eyes were gentle.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, son. I’ve made some regrettable choices while on the force that had to be done.” He placed a comforting hand on Johan’s shoulder. “I know you would never take a life unless you had to.”

Johan gave Gordon a soft smile; he turned to Bruce, his expression appreciative. When he returned his gaze to Bane, the large man’s eyes were shimmering in amusement.

“What will you do about Barsad, my flower?” the man rasped.

It was the first time the man had uttered the endearment in front of them. The Commissioner’s cheeks reddened and he averted his eyes to the far wall, pretending to be interested in the data streaming onto the screen of the Bat-Computer. Bruce, on the other hand, was not embarrassed - he was furious.

In a flash the vigilante’s hand was pressing down on the soiled bandage around Bane’s shoulder. A jerk of the huge man’s body followed and Bane scrunched is eyes in discomfort; his lips pressed hard. However, Bane did not scream.

“You don’t get to call him anything but ‘ _Joe_ ’,” Bruce seethed. He clenched his fist even more firmly into the mercenary’s flesh, a grunt issuing from the strapped down man. “Do you understand?” The hand tightened again.

Bane’s eyes traveled slowly from Bruce to Johan. Now that the gray eyes were losing their tormented haziness, Johan saw a familiar shine in the Bane’s gaze: a predatory fondness. The boy looked down to the floor, his face becoming heated.

“Indeed,” Bane croaked. “Although, that is not the boy’s name.”

Bruce gave Johan a questioning glance, letting go of Bane’s shoulder, his animosity towards the man temporarily forgotten. “What?”

 _There’s no time for this now_ , Johan knew with frustration. _We need to get back on task._

The boy brushed off Bruce’s expecting expression and pressed onwards. “How do we find Barsad?”

“I told you, _Joseph_ ,” Bane answered with a cheeky grin. “You will not. His skills of concealment surpass my own.”

Johan sighed to clear his head while Bruce clenched his fists. Bruce turned to Gordon. “Call HQ, Jim. Tell them you received a bomb threat. Have Bullock and Montoya search everywhere with the Bomb Disposal Unit, focusing on the underground levels. Use the communication device Joe gave you – your cell phone won’t have service down here.”

After a quick nod the Commissioner stepped closer to the Bat-Computer to place some calls. Now only Bruce and Johan were left to stand by Bane’s metal gurney. The boy began a small pacing trail, ten feet away from the gurney and then ten feet back. Walking helped rid him of his nervous energy and focus on the task at hand.

 _There must be something – anything!_ He told himself. _Ra’s said lots of things. One of them has to be useful…_

“How did you survive?” Johan heard Bruce say to Bane while his back was turned on his walking route; the boy didn’t stop to listen but he kept the conversation on the back burner in his mind as he continued pacing.

Bane coughed lightly, like a chuckle was caught in his throat. “I should be asking you the same.”

“ _Tell me_ ,” Bruce growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“Why should I answer you?”

“Your morphine can still be taken away.”

There was a small pause, then a long intake of breath. “Barsad and Ra’s found me,” Bane answered in a wheeze. “The Demon’s Head had managed to return to the city during our reign, much the same as _you_.”

“And they took you from City Hall?”

“Yes. And since then they have been… _caring_ for me. You can see their, ah, _attentions_ for yourself.”

“You deserve worse.”

Bane managed a clearer laugh this time. “Perhaps.”

 _Hm, probably better he was taken away,_ Johan thought. _If any Gotham citizens had found Bane’s body they would have probably burned him alive…_

The boy stopped, his boots squeaking suddenly on the smooth cement floor.

_Burned him alive…_

_Burned him…_

_Burned…_

The wistful face of Ra’s, complete with the fancifully knotted necktie and absurd goatee, exploded from the boy’s memory.

_“My misguided, foolhardy daughter,” Ra’s said as he looked upward. “In her haste she did not even search for my body to cremate the remains.’_

The boy’s eyes lit up. _Cremation! That’s it!_

He sprung to the gurney beside Bruce, the man studying him curiously. “All League members need to cremated, right?” he asked.

“Cremated?” Bruce said hesitantly, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not sure.”

“They do,” Bane informed them. “You were never truly initiated, Mr. Wayne. You do not know our ways.”

Johan scratched the back of his hair, digging the nails into his scalp roughly. He looked to Bane. “How long after a person dies do you have to do it?”

“As soon as it is possible. The soul cannot leave its prison unless the vessel is burned.”

“So then Ra’s…” Johan calculated aloud. “His body would have to be cremated. But the only one who could do it is Barsad…” Bane was smiling; if Johan could pick the emotion, he would say it was pride. “Would Barsad _have_ to do it?”

The gray eyes were practically sparkling with approval. “He would, as a final task for his master.”

 _I don’t think Bane even thought of this,_ the boy thought. Johan chewed his bottom lip in concentration.

“He couldn’t risk getting Ra’s body after the bombs went off. It'd be too risky,” Bruce added to Johan’s line of thinking. “It would be difficult stealing it from the city morgue. If he were to get the body, it would have to be in transit, or before…” Bruce’s face flooded with comprehension.

 _Damn it!_ Johan understood as well. _Barsad needs Ra’s’ body. Whoever is at the crime scene is in serious danger._

Both vigilantes turned to the Commissioner.

“Gordon!” they called in unison.

Evidently the man was already walking back towards them, the communicator off and in his hand.

“I just got off the phone with Bullock,” Gordon said, his face serious. “The BDU will begin their search of police HQ shortly,” the man told them before stopping his story. He seemed apprehensive.

“Is there something else?” Bruce questioned.

Gordon observed the boy. “Joe, you said you killed a man? Ra's al Ghul?”

“Yes. About two hours ago.”

“And Bullock said he received an anonymous phone call. You said that was you?”

“Yeah. I called his direct number.”

Gordon pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “It’s so strange...”

“Was Ra’s there?” Johan said, his fingers twitching.

“Bullock got to the scene fifteen minutes after your call,” Gordon told Johan. “He said there was no body.”


	12. Chapter 12

_Present day, September continued_

Gordon’s proclamation rebounded inside the quiet chamber. The ragged breathing from Bane seemed amplified as the Commissioner watched Johan with searching eyes. Johan was chewing his bottom lip in thought.

Gold eyes shot to Gordon. “Bullock is sure?”

“There’s nothing to be sure about, son. Either a body’s there or it isn’t.” The Commissioner sighed and rubbed at his eyes behind his glasses. “Bullock and his men searched the whole block. There was nothing, not even a stray cat in an alley.”

“You are too late,” Bane wheezed from atop the gurney. “He has already gone.”

Bruce tapped a finger on his hip. “Barsad must have gotten there before Bullock did.”

_Shit_ , Johan realized. _If Barsad already has Ra’s’ body then he can blow up those buildings whenever he wants. He won’t have to delay his plans. Damn it!_

Johan turned to Bruce. “We need to find where he is. _Now_.”

“I can call HQ,” Gordon told them. “I’ll have Montoya review the security footage of the block. We have that whole neighborhood covered by overhead cameras.”

“No need,” Bruce said. “We can do that from here.”

The Commissioner’s eyebrows rose before he smiled slightly. “I figured you had access to security feeds. Which ones can you tap into?”

“All of them,” the billionaire said with a grin.

“Even those that require police pass codes?”

The younger man was already walking to the Bat-Computer. “ _All_ of them.” Johan heard Gordon snort as Bruce hurriedly sat down on the swivel chair and began typing, his fingers practically flying over the keyboard. Bruce spoke without taking his sight off the computer monitor. “Joe, what time did you meet Ra’s?”

“Almost three hours ago. 23:30.”

A square popped to life at the forefront of the screen. It had the time in green print at the bottom right hand corner of a black-and-white video feed. The camera angle was from above the intersection that Johan knew too well, housed on the streetlight in front of the derelict bagel shop. Bruce’s computer was hooked up to every security feed possible in Gotham, ranging from the Mayor’s office to lines in the sewers that Bruce himself had set up. Basically they had a thousand eyes that could spy on the entire city. Not entirely legal, per se, but no one would say that Batman followed all the rules.

Bruce had wound the camera footage so that the time marker read 23:00. At this point the intersection was empty. The vigilante pressed a key and the time sped up to twice as fast. The street was empty a few more moments before the small image of Ra’s Al Ghul emerged on the screen. The camera followed the man as he strolled into view and sidled into the laundromat. Soon Johan saw the tiny figure of himself walking into the middle of the intersection, no doubt calling out for Bane, the man he thought he was going to meet. Ra’s emerged from his hiding place and their conversation began.

Johan’s heart started to beat faster. He looked on as the tiny version of him began to writhe on the street in pain, with Ra's holding the trigger to the nanomachines in his hand. The boy turned his eyes downward; he couldn't watch anymore. Johan knew what was coming next.

_Soon the nanos will take control_ , he knew. _This isn't going to be pretty._

“Bruce,” he started, the tension evident in his tone. “You may not want to watch…”

The man visibly tightened his shoulders as he stared at the screen. “That bad, huh?”

Images of blood bubbling from Ra’s’ mouth while tendons hung limply from a severed wrist sprung into the boy's head. “Yeah. It’s bad.”

“Is it?” the raspy voice from behind them spoke. Bane’s head was turned so he had an ample view of the giant computer screen. “Were you not merciful?”

_Torso caved in, bones exposed through skin, a sickening sucking sound as the man breathed his last breath._

“No,” Johan told the mercenary. “I wasn’t.”

Bane’s eyes shimmered. “You continue to… _please_ me, Joseph.”

Johan’s cheeks reddened slightly. “Shut your mouth, Bane,” he ordered the man. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

“Will you beat me like your dear Mr. Wayne wishes he could?”

Johan smirked. “No. It’s called duct tape. Great for fixing leaky pipes and quieting noisy mercenaries.”

“Indeed,” the man said with a gleam in his gray eyes. “Still such bite, Joseph.”

“Guess so,” the boy said with a dismissive attitude. He faced Gordon. “Jim, you think that Bullock-,”

He stopped when he saw The Commissioner’s face.

Gordon’s gaze was enraptured with the Bat-Computer monitor, the light from the screen reflecting off the man’s horn-rimmed eyeglasses.

The boy’s stomach dropped and he became nauseous. Gordon was watching how he had murdered Ra's al Ghul, how he had crushed in the man's chest in a bestial manner that he didn't even remember. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to _see_. He didn’t want to watch the silver-eyed monster that was playing on that video.

“That’s not you,” the Commissioner stated plainly. His attention never left the computer monitor.

Johan shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Jim. It is.”

“I’ve never seen you look like this.”

“It was the nanos, Jim.”

“Son…your _face_. You look-,”

“You don’t have to say it. I know.”

_I look like the Devil._

The boy scrunched his eyes shut. He could only imagine what the visage of himself looked like when he was under nanomachine control. Even Dr. Saunders had told him it had been frightening. He never wanted to find out how truly frightening he was.

The sound of wheels on concrete screeched as Bruce rolled his chair from the computer; he wordlessly strode to the wall by the storage units and refrigerator. Johan craned his neck and saw that the video feed was paused: it showed Ra’s mangled corpse on the street alone, Johan had already left the scene. The boy shifted his gaze back to Bruce.

There was metal door in the wall that led to a small room. Johan hadn’t ever needed to enter it since Bruce had ‘died’. The room was tiny with 10x10 square foot dimensions. Inside was a cot, a dresser, and a sink and mirror on the wall. It was for Bruce, when he hadn’t been able to make it back to the penthouse between patrols. The boy had never used it.

But Johan didn’t understand why Bruce was choosing to go into the room now.

_He’s obviously not going to take a nap_.

Johan went to follow the man as Bruce flung the metal door open hard enough for it to swing on its hinge and clatter loudly against the cement wall. The boy stepped through and found Bruce kneeling in front of the dresser at the foot of the cot. The bottom drawer was open and the man was digging through old clothes that were inside.

Johan folded his arms and leaned against the wall by the door. “What are you doing, Bruce?”

No answer. Bruce opened the drawer above and continued to rife through the dresser contents.

“Are you looking for something?” the boy asked.

The man paused as he finally found whatever it was. He stood up and turned to the boy, holding up a folded black outfit in one hand. Johan recognized it: Bruce’s ninja uniform, from his days in the League of Shadows. The boy’s eyes went from the clothes to Bruce’s face; the muscles in the man’s jaw were tensed. Bruce was silently searching the boy’s face. The tiny room felt heated all of the sudden.

The boy gestured to the outfit with his head. “You plan on using that?”

“I do,” the man responded. “I don’t have any other gear to wear.”

“You don’t need any gear. I’ll get Barsad myself.”

“No. _We_ are ending this tonight. You’re not going back out there by yourself.”

That made Johan angry. “Why? You afraid I’m going to kill someone else if you’re not there?”

Bruce began wringing the fabric of his ninja outfit between his fists. “I can never see you like that again.” His words were terse, holding in pent-up anger.

“Like _what_ , exactly?”

“Your face,” Bruce said, his voice loud in the tiny space. “That video feed was terrible. I didn’t even recognize you.” He stopped twisting the clothes in his hand and rubbed a palm over his face. “This terrorist plot. It ends tonight. I’m going to help you capture Barsad.”

Johan narrowed his eyes. “Arresting Barsad won’t change what I am, Bruce.”

“And what exactly are you?” the man said loudly. He shoved the open dresser drawers shut with his foot before rounding on the boy. “You told me you were a child solider but you didn’t tell me you were capable of what I just watched.”

“I told you about my past before,” Johan told him. “You knew I'd killed people.”

“I never thought it would be like _that_.”

“Oh?” the boy said. “You thought I would look _pretty_ killing people? That it would be short and sweet?”

Bruce took a step closer. “No. I just never imagined you could tear off a man’s hands.”

“Well, now you know.” The man was so close that Johan had to bend his neck back to look the man in the eyes. “So have you changed your mind now?”

Hot air came out of Bruce’s nose and blew onto the boy's face. “What do you mean? About what?”

“Do you still want to be with me?”

Bruce looked confused. The question had caught him off guard. The man shook his head. “Joe, this can wait.”

“No. It can’t. I need to know.”

The man began to walk past him. “Later. Let’s go. We have to find Bar-,”

“Damn it, Bruce, _stop_!” He grabbed the man’s bicep. Instantly Bruce lashed out and trapped Johan against the wall, his muscular forearm digging into the boy’s neck. The boy put his hands around the offending arm and squeezed. They stared at each other in the quiet of the small room.

“I could break it,” Johan said through clenched teeth, tightening his grip on Bruce.

The man pushed harder, the boy gasping slightly. “Then do it.”

“You know I wouldn’t,” the boy said. He was hot and quite aware of how close Bruce’s body was to his. He tried to stay on topic, blocking out unnecessary sensations. “What you told me earlier…does it still stand?”

The man stared down for a moment longer. He took a deep breath and eased his arm off the boy’s neck. Johan watched as Bruce closed his eyes, his brunette head lowered to the ground. The man nodded.

Bruce spoke softly, “It does.”

“Will you leave Selina?” the boy asked quietly.

“Do we have to have this conversation now?”

“We do,” Johan said sternly. “I want to know before we go out there.”

The man sighed. “I forgot how stubborn you were.”

“I learned from the best,” Johan said. “So, answer the question.”

Bruce nodded in affirmation. “I’ll leave her, Joe. That’s the reason why Selina waited so long to tell me about you and Bane,” the man explained. “She could sense I loved you, even though I had never told her. Selina…she’s a good judge of character,” the man turned to Johan, “even when it’s something you don’t know yourself.”

“And you’ll stay in Gotham?”

“I hoped you’d be willing to leave the city,” Bruce said. “It wouldn’t be wise for me to stay here. We wouldn’t be able to live in anonymity. Everyone in Gotham knows my face.”

Johan soaked in the words, his golden eyes fixed on Bruce's green.

_Bruce wants to leave the city…_

_…With me._

When Johan had chosen to stay in Gotham after both Batman and Bruce had ‘died’ it was out of respect to Bruce and the city. The boy wanted to help Gordon, along with the GCPD, to get Gotham on its feet. Now that that goal was almost complete, Johan had to think of his future.

The meek voice of Dr. Saunders filled his head:

_“Tell me you’ll stay alive,” she told him and tightened her grip. “Undo the wrong those bastards did to you. Help as many people as you can.”_

Johan clenched his hands down tight. _Help as many people as I can…as long as I can…_

He had made a promise to Marie, but now he didn’t know if he could do it. Like Bruce, he had learned that keeping such a promise might be more than he could bear. The time he spent with Bane cost him more than he had thought. Johan needed a season to recuperate, and staying with Bruce for however long was what he needed.

It was time to say goodbye to Gotham.

But only one thing was holding him back. One person, actually…

“The Commissioner,” Johan said. “What will he do?”

“As far as I can see, you and him have helped get the GCPD back on track,” Bruce stated. He grasped Johan’s hand. “He’ll be okay.”

“I can’t leave him…”

“You didn’t pledge yourself to this city. It was Gordon who did.”

“He doesn’t have anyone here, Bruce. His family is gone.”

Bruce squeezed the boy’s hand. “You’re _my_ family now,” he said. The larger hand released the boy’s and moved to lightly stroke Johan’s neck where his forearm had been pressed upon earlier. “Please, Joe. Come with me.”

“Do you really want to leave Gotham for good?” the boy questioned.

Bruce nodded. “This city isn’t our responsibility anymore. It’s time to leave Gotham to the people.”

The boy breathed out slowly, his eyes searching the man. This was one of the few instances that Johan could see the open expression on Bruce’s face. Usually the vigilante was so guarded, afraid and unwilling to show outward emotion. Now his face was an open book. It gave Johan the extra push he needed.

_It’s time for me to take a break. Gotham will okay. I can feel it._

Johan bit his bottom lip. “I’ll go with you, Bruce.”

“Are you sure?” the man asked.

The boy smiled. “I am. I've been lost for the last few months."

"Then let me take care of you," Bruce said. The man started to move his mouth towards the boy's lips.

“Ahem.”

The boy’s eyes sprung open and he looked to the intrusion. Gordon was standing in the doorway, nudging his glasses up his nose and staring at them sheepishly. “Sorry to interrupt, boys, but I know what happened to our missing body.”

Johan took a step away from Bruce, his cheeks pink from embarrassment. “Did you see Barsad?”

“I did. I kept watching the video feed,” the Commissioner said. “He pulled up in a white panel van ten minutes after you left. He put Ra’s’ body in the back.”

_Huh_ , Johan mused inwardly. _So Barsad really is going to cremate Ra’s’ body, or at least that's what it seems like he’s doing. We need to find him before he does it…_

“Jim, I need you to do us a favor.” Bruce began stripping off his street clothes and dressing in his ninja suit. He had finished putting on the pants and shirt when Gordon laughed softly.

“I know that outfit. That’s what you wore the first time we met.”

The younger man grinned. “You’re right. That was a long time ago.”

“Hm,” Gordon hummed. “That night, were you really armed?”

“No."

Gordon narrowed his eyes in curiosity. "What was it?"

Bruce continued to grin. "A stapler.”

“I _knew_ it!” the Commissioner exclaimed.

“A stapler?” Johan asked with confusion. “Bruce threatened you with a _stapler_?”

The Commissioner huffed and crossed his arms. “I thought it was a gun at the time,” the man muttered. Bruce had put on the ninja mask, his green eyes visible through the slit in the fabric. The older man tilted his head. “So what’s the favor?”

“Joe and I are going after Barsad. I need you to stay here and feed us real-time directions of where the van went.”

Gordon was about to respond when Johan cut in.

“Wait, hold on,” the boy said. He walked to the doorway of the small room where Gordon was standing. He peered past the threshold to where the gurney was situated against the far wall; Bane was flat on his back, his chest moving up and down rhythmically. The mercenary appeared to be asleep. “Why does Jim need to give us directions? We were always able to download data from the Bat-Computer into our vehicles.”

“Not anymore,” Bruce explained. “I allowed Lucius to destroy network connections that allowed Wayne Enterprises satellites to transmit the information. Lucius viewed my capabilities as ‘unethical’. I assume you haven’t tried using it?”

“No,” Johan said. “Jim and I usually do research the old fashioned way.” The boy had a nagging feeling in the back of his head.

_I don’t think Bane means us any harm_ , Johan thought, _but I don’t have a good feeling about this._

“Jim should come with us,” Johan said.

"No," Bruce said firmly. “I’m not leaving Bane in the Batcave unattended.”

The boy ruffled his hair. “Bane wouldn’t get up to trouble. He’s helping us now.”

Bruce grunted. “I don’t have the luxury of assuming the best of him. If it were up to me, Bane would have never seen the inside of the Batcave.”

“There was nowhere else to take him,” Johan said. "We would have never gotten anything out of him otherwise.”

Bruce shook his head and shot the boy a glare. “You should have told me you were bringing him. We work as a team. You’re not calling all the shots.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed in return. “I’m not going to apologize. I made a judgment call and we got the information we needed.”

“As far as we know.”

“Do you have anything else better to go on? Jim just saw the video, everything Bane told us fits!” the boy stated loudly. Johan met the man’s angry stare. Bruce’s green eyes were blazing through the slit in the man’s dark mask.

The man didn’t budge. “He’ll be fine. Bane is secured to the bed. And Jim has his firearm if needed.”

“Someone else should be here with him for backup.”

“He can handle a man handcuffed to a metal bed,” the man said. “And I already told you that I’m coming with you. There’s no debate.”

“Enough, boys,” the Commissioner said calmly, his blue eyes studying them both. He was looking at them both in a fatherly manner, as if they were a couple of rowdy teenagers. His gaze softened as he looked to Johan. “I’ll be fine, Joe. You and Bruce should go, I’ll man the fort here.”

“Jim-,”

“Go,” the man told him sternly. “I can watch over myself. You two need to go out there and catch that criminal.”

“But-,”

“ _Go_.” Gordon stared at the boy, challenging him to argue further. With effort Johan bit his tongue and nodded curtly. “Good. That’s settled, then.” The Commissioner turned on his heel and walked back to the Bat-Computer.

“Jim,” the boy said. The man stopped and turned, an eyebrow raised. “I…I’m not really what you saw in that video. That wasn't _me_.”

Gordon nodded slowly. “I know, son. It just…surprised me.” He stared at the boy a second longer before turning around and continuing his path to the computer.

Johan waited until the man’s footsteps were far enough away. “Something could happen while we’re away,” he told Bruce softly. “Bane isn’t a normal man.”

“You just said a second ago that he wouldn’t cause any trouble. Having second thoughts?”

“No,” the boy asserted, “it’s just that Bane can be…complicated.”

Bruce’s hands tightened. “I don’t like you talking about him as if you actually _know_ the man.”

“Why? I _do_ know him.”

“Sleeping with someone isn’t the same as knowing them.”

Johan’s face heated. “ _Obviously_ , or else you’d of known that Talia was a crazy psychotic bitch.”

“What?” Bruce’s eyes focused intently on Johan through the slit in the black ninja mask. “How could you know-,”

“That you slept with her? She _told_ me, Bruce, that’s how.”

There was a beat of awkward silence. “I didn’t know you met her.”

_‘Met’ doesn’t do that night justice_ , the boy thought with anger. Johan nodded sharply. “I did. And it was enough to know that she was running the show. Bane was just her pawn.”

“That doesn’t excuse his actions,” Bruce countered. “He murdered innocent people.”

Johan shot back a quick response. “But he’s helping us now, Bruce. No matter what he did in the past, he’s working for good tonight.”

“I’m sure he has his own reasons,” the man stated.

“Don’t we all?”

Bruce didn’t reply. The sound of Gordon pressing keys at the computer were soft outside the room. If Johan listened close enough he could hear the soft wheezes of Bane.

_Bruce has turned this into a dick-measuring contest,_ Johan knew. _I have to let him know that my past with Bane doesn’t mean I’m on the mercenary’s side._

“I understand why you hate Bane, but you’re not that different from him.”

Bruce sighed aloud into the fabric of his mask. “You’ve already compared me to Bane once. Don’t do it again.”

“He was just doing what he thought was right.”

“ _Right_? He was going to murder this entire city, Joe!”

“I don’t mean his actions,” Johan said. “I mean his willpower. He’s just as driven as you. He was ready to die for his cause, just like _you_.”

The laugh that escaped Bruce’s mouth was bitter. “I think you’ve been brainwashed.”

“Excuse me?” Johan asked in disbelief.

“You heard me. You were with him so long that now you’re blind to his faults,” Bruce said harshly. He hit his palm against the wall next to the boy, making Johan flinch at the unexpected thud. “You’re even giving him _morphine_ , damn it!”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Johan asked in exasperation, his fists clenching. “We’re not like the criminals we fight, Bruce - we have to be better than them!”

“Not in _his_ case.”

“In everyone’s case!” Johan yelled. He was breathing loudly and his suit was starting to absorb the excess sweat that his body was producing. “You have to treat Bane like any other perp on the street, not worse.”

Bruce huffed. “That’s great coming from you, Joe. With all that you’ve just told me, it sounds like you _respect_ him.”

Johan clenched his jaw, willing himself not to say anything he would regret. The boy inhaled deeply and sucked in a calming breath. He held it for three seconds before completing a slow exhale.

_Time to end this fight_ , Johan knew. _We need to be in sync for going up against Barsad._

“Bruce,” Johan said. “Believe me when I say that I respect _you_ , not Bane.”

Johan waited nervously as Bruce contemplated the boy’s words. Slowly he watched as the man relaxed his body stance, his shoulders and neck loosening.

The man sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Joe.” The boy waited and after a few seconds the man held out his arm. “Come here, kid.”

The boy let Bruce take the lead and wrap an arm around his sinewy waist. He molded into Bruce’s warm body as the man took his lips into a soft but domineering kiss. They broke some seconds later and Johan saw that Bruce had a sly grin on his face, the kind of look he had when Alfred would scold him for coming in too late or eating too many of Johan’s macadamia cookies. The expression meant the man knew he was on thin ice, but that he enjoyed riding the line all the same.

The boy rolled his eyes. _I can never stay mad at the guy._

Johan gave him a playful punch in the gut. “Let’s go. We can continue this after we get Barsad.”

They both exited the room. Gordon was watching as new video feeds popped on the screen one after the other like pesky Internet advertisements.

“So your computer will track the van for me?” the Commissioner asked.

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. I just need you to tell us where it’s headed since I can’t get that data transmitted.” He tossed Gordon a communication device. “It’ll take a few more minutes to find the final location of the vehicle. After that you can give us real-time information on where it’s presently going.”

The older man breathed out deeply and cracked his knuckles. “I can handle that. You two stay safe.”

“You too, Jim.” The boy’s stomach twisted into a knot as he glanced over to Bane; gray eyes were following he and Bruce as they went to the platform.

“Take care, my Joseph,” the mercenary rumbled deeply. Bane’s mouth curved into a crooked smile.

Johan stared at the disconcerting sight. It reminded the boy of a smile from earlier that night, but from a different man. Like Ra’s, it had the same preternatural confidence, as if Bane was aware of something Johan was not. The boy suddenly broke from his path to the rising platform and went to the gurney, bending low over Bane’s face. The golden eyes were sparkling with suspicion.

“Is everything you’ve told us the truth?” he spoke quietly.

Bane continued to smile. “Why would it not be?”

“If it isn’t…” Johan said before pausing. He ground his bottom jaw against his top teeth before speaking again. “If it isn’t, then having no morphine will be the least of your problems.”

“It is not like you to threaten a man with violence.”

The boy stared back with a composed expression. “You don’t know me.”

“And you know me, Joseph?” he rasped. The gray eyes were gleaming.

Gold and gray eyes met, unyielding against each other. Whereas before Johan was made to adhere to Bane’s rules and conditions because of Bruce, now they were on equal footing. Bane was no longer his master; he was free to do as he pleased to the man, free to be as cruel as we wanted.

And yet he was not cruel. At that very moment morphine was entering Bane’s bloodstream, dulling the never-ending pain that wrecked the damage man on the gurney. Bruce was right: the man didn’t deserve the humane treatment he was receiving.

_The man is a monster_ , Johan told himself. _So why do I care for him? Something is wrong with me…_

“Joe. Let’s go.”

Bruce’s voice came from the platform. The man had his arms folded and he was waiting. Johan searched Bane’s face once more before turning. As he walked to Bruce he could feel the gray eyes’ lingering gaze on his back.

“Ready?” Bruce asked.

“Always am.”

The vigilante turned to the computer. “Jim, you good?”

“Yes, Bruce,” the man said and gave a thumbs-up signal. “I’ll contact you both when the tracker finishes.”

They stepped on the platform and it automatically began to rise. Johan watched Gordon’s back as they ascended; on the counter next to him he had his police sidearm.

_Good, he needs to keep it close_ , Johan thought. But his stomach was still churning with apprehension. _That smile…_

Darkness prevailed as the platform passed through the ten feet of solid ground. They emerged in the office trailer and the ground clicked into place on level with the rest of the building floor. Johan looked out the window; it was almost sunrise. The sky was a pale gray with a hint of pink on the flat horizon out towards the bay. A new day was almost beginning.

“We need to get to my car,” Bruce said. “I parked it inside one of the extra shipping containers.”

Johan nodded silently and reached into one of his stealth suit pockets to grab his mask. He hurriedly pulled it over his face as Bruce started to open the office door. The boy suddenly had the urge to say something he should have said before.

_Tell him_ , he told himself. _Just do it._

He wanted to do it before he lost the nerve.

“Hey, Bruce.”

The man stopped with the door halfway open. “Yeah, Joe?”

_Do it._

“I just….wanted to say…”

Bruce was still paused, the door ajar. “Joe?”

Bruce had said it earlier and now it was Johan’s turn. He never told the man before now. On countless occasions they both had saved the other from a stray bullet or lurking knifeman, using actions to convey their emotions more than words could. Nights of physical passion had sealed their relationship into one of mutual comfort and pleasure. But words were never used to describe how they felt. Admitting your feelings to a person only opened up avenues for hurt and betrayal. Were something to happen between them, everything could be dropped and left to decay since no definitions were put on their shared experiences.

But no more. He wanted to define and put a name on how he felt about Bruce. Johan wanted the man to know, here in this moment, that he also shared Bruce’s idea of what they both had together.

_Out with it!_

With a fast-beating heart, Johan made the declaration.

“I love you.”

There. It was done.

Bruce stared, his eyes searching the boy’s masked face. Johan coughed and rolled on his feet back and forth. “I…wanted to tell you.”

Bruce’s eyes crinkled. “I’ve always known.”

“You…you did?”

“Yes, Joe. But before I was too afraid to love you back. All that’s changed now.” Bruce craned his neck to gaze out over the docks and onto the Gotham Bay. “After this, let’s start anew. What do you think?”

Johan smiled. “I think we have a deal, Bats.”

The man’s eyes were still crinkled as he opened the door wide and stepped out of the office.

That was when Johan heard the crackling in his ear.

“Joe, Bruce?” It was Gordon’s tinny voice through the communicator. It sounded worried. “Can you hear me?”

Both men paused, confused at the Commissioner’s distressed tone.

“Yes, Gordon, what is it?” Bruce inquired from the doorway.

“The van. Barsad. He’s a block away. He’s _here_!”

That was when Johan put the pieces together: Bruce and the open doorway. The man was totally exposed.

“Bruce, _move_!”

The gunshot came from far away.

The back of Bruce’s left shoulder blew open as the large caliber round tore through his body. Blood sprayed onto the carpeted floor as the man’s body teetered backwards, a surprised grunt escaping him. Johan jolted to life and grabbed Bruce’s right side in order to thrust him away from the door.

The computer on the desk behind them shattered loudly as another shot came in through the open doorway. Moving quickly, Johan dove headfirst across the door and kicked it closed with a slam. He stayed low, cautious to stay under any of the office windows.

“What’s going on?” Gordon asked in his ear loudly. “What happened?”

“Bruce is shot,” the boy said.

“Jesus,” the older man swore. “Come back down here, now. We can-,”

Gordon got cut off. But Johan had no time to ask after the man below them.

“Bruce!” he called loudly as he crouched over the man. Bruce's body was shaking as blood poured out from his shoulder. Johan pressed his palms over the bullet wound; the man yelled out in agony and tried to tear off the boy’s hands. Johan held firm with one hand while he ripped off the ninja mask with the other. Bruce’s green eyes looked dull and faraway. Johan grabbed the man’s right shoulder and shook him. “We need to get back to the platform!”

“Didn’t…see…it coming,” Bruce said weakly. His face was slick with perspiration and he was already pale. The boy could see the carpet beneath them becoming dark with blood.

“Hurry,” he urged the man. “There’s supplies in the Batcave.” They were about five feet from the edge of the hidden platform. “ _Crawl_ , Bruce.”

The man obeyed and pushed his lower legs against the floor, slowly squirming side to side on the carpet. Johan’s mind raced as he helped pull Bruce by his unwounded arm, making sure they both stayed close to the ground.

_Large caliber round, distant sound of gunfire,_ Johan knew. _There’s a sniper. No doubt Barsad is here._

A sound of exertion left him as he heaved Bruce’s body closer onto the platform. Johan was close enough to the desk now. Reaching up he grasped the phone cord and tugged. The entire phone stand crashed to the ground and the headset fell off its perch, a loud beeping coming from the earpiece.

“How did…Barsad…find us?” the man asked heavily. Bruce winced in pain as he managed to get the bottom of his feet onto the rest of the platform border. “Bane?”

Johan hurriedly punched in 7-1-1 on the telephone. “I think so.”

“How? A…tracker?”

The boy furrowed his brows. “Probably.” _I didn’t even search him before I brought him here. How could I be such an idiot?!_

The platform began its descent back into the place they had just left. The room above them was out of sight as they went further into the ground.

“Joe…” Bruce said weakly. The man’s head was lying in Johan’s lap and the boy still had pressure placed on the bullet wound. “I…” the man trailed off into silence. He became limp.

_Shit_ , the boy thought. “Bruce! Stay awake!” He shook the man harshly, jarring the head that lolled lazily back and forth. The man was still breathing but didn’t respond. _Unconscious. He’s lost too much blood already. Damn this! How could I have been so stupid?_

Bright light flooded his vision as they entered the Batcave. Johan ripped of his mask and looked to the Bat-Computer.

The chair was empty. Gordon wasn’t there. _What the hell? We were gone for five minutes_.

“Jim?!” he yelled.

That’s when he heard the crash.

Golden eyes were wide as he saw the metal gurney fall to the floor. Bane was standing on the ground with one hand still cuffed to the metal bed. His other hand was free from the plastic hold Johan had bound it in earlier. The mercenary was looking up to the boy, a pleased expression on his face.

“Back so soon?” Bane asked with a smirk. “I would have liked more time with your dear Commissioner.”

_Fuck!_  Johan thought with dread.  _Bane broke the cuff like it was a piece of string. I didn't know he'd be this strong this soon..._

A pair of legs was visible on the floor; the rest of Gordon’s body was hidden behind the metal gurney. The legs weren’t moving. They were still as stone.

The platform continued to whir as it followed its track into the Batcave. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling began to burn the boy’s eyes as he stared unmoving at Bane. The man had the trace of a smile on his face, his eyes scrunched in satisfaction. The boy felt Bruce’s chest moving shallowly under his shaking hand. He smelled the iron tang of the man’s blood that was soaking into the Kevlar fabric of his stealth suit. Johan blinked and caught a glint of light on the cement floor of the Batcave.

It was Jim’s eyeglasses. They were ten feet away from the gurney. One of the rims was broken and the left lens was cracked down the middle.

Golden eyes flickered to silver briefly. He sucked in a breath. His head felt light.

_Bruce_ , he thought in sorrow. _Jim_.

_I couldn’t protect them._

_I failed. It’s my fault…_

Tears brimmed in his golden eyes as his face reddened. His breathing became faster.

“Joseph,” Bane’s voice called. “Do not despair.”

But Johan didn’t hear the man. There was a cacophony of voices in his head. He tried to drown them out but it was no use; they were calling out for help, for justice, for mercy.

_I can’t help them…_

The firm click of the platform falling into place resounded in the room. Johan was still sitting on the platform, Bruce’s head in his lap, the man barely breathing in his arms. Blood was still seeping through the man’s shoulder and the platform around them was wet with dark red.

The darkness began to consume him. Johan felt his senses deserting him, slowly replaced with feelings of a more primal nature.

The boy closed his eyes. _Not again_ , he thought.

_‘Yes,’_ the voice of the nanomachines whispered. _‘Again.’_

_But I’m not in danger._

_‘Your friends are.’_

_Killing my enemies won’t help them,_ he reasoned.

_‘You may not help them,’_ it told the boy, _‘but you will give your friends what they want.’_

_And what’s that?_

_‘Retribution.’_

He felt himself slipping more. _Will you ever leave me?_

_‘No.’_

_You’ve made me kill people._

_‘We protect you. Now…let go.’_

_‘Will I kill Bane?’_

_‘Yes.’_

His control was slipping. _‘I don’t want to.’_

_‘You must.’_

_He’s kind._

_‘Is he?’_

_Yes. He is to me._

_‘No matter. It is time to let go.’_

Blackness was melting around the edges of his vision. His eyes were battling between gold and silver. He was close…so close to losing it…

“Ah, Barsad. Welcome.” Bane was staring at the open hole in the ceiling, where the platform had come from.

_Did he say 'welcome'?_ Johan’s eyes opened; they were gold, but barely. The boy had enough command over his actions to slowly gaze upward.

The drowsy-eyed man was staring at him. There was a Barrett M107 rifle over his shoulder and a small remote in his hand. Johan’s eye widened at seeing the device; it was eerily similar to the one Ra’s had used tonight.

_That must be the trigger for the explosives_ , he realized.

Barsad inclined his head downward at the boy. “The Batman is dying,” he drawled.

“Fuck you,” Johan seethed at the man. “Why are you here?”

The drowsy-eyes stared him down. "For _him_." He tilted his head to Bane.

"What the hell is-," Johan said before he howled in pain. Suddenly the voices in his head erupted into a chorus of moaning that reached decibels he had never before heard. His head felt as if it would explode from the pressure of sound; it was torture. But still he held firm.

_‘Let go!’_ the nanomachines ordered. _‘Give us control!’_

_No!_

_‘You need us!’_

_No more killing!_

_‘Then you will suffer!’_

The boy’s head began to twitch involuntarily and his arms began to spasm. His legs were trembling so much that Bruce’s head had slipped off his lap and banged on the hard cement floor. The nanomachines wanted mastery over his body but Johan wouldn’t let them have it. As punishment his body sang with pain that the microscopic robots were inflicting. No matter how badly it hurt, he wouldn’t let them have control again. He didn’t want to murder another person.

He didn't want to kill Bane.

Johan’s body hurled itself onto the floor, the boy’s head banging against the concrete floor. His arms were hitting themselves again and again on the ground, bruising the boy’s bones and muscles. There was nothing he could do to stop it. The nanomachines were breaking him.

_Stop this!_ He told them.

_‘You can end this pain. Let go.’_

_I can’t, damn it!_

The torture continued and Johan screamed as his blood began to boil in his veins. The nanomachines were raising his bodily temperature so high that his insides were burning. His uniform was soaking with sweat and leaving wet streaks on the dry cement ground. It seemed like the torment would never end.

Meanwhile the gray eyes were watching this display with interest. The man glanced to Barsad.

“Prepare to use the trigger,” Bane ordered to the man above.

Barsad inclined his head, readying this thumb over the red button.

“Trigger?” Johan gasped. Even through the pain he was able to discern the man’s spoken words. “Don’t do it! People will die!”

Bane continued to smile as Barsad tossed the remote from one hand to the other, as if it was a harmless toy ball. “It is not for the bombs,” Bane rasped.

Johan didn’t understand. He struggled to stay focused. “What?”

“It is for you.”

“Me?”

“Or more specifically,” the man said slowly, “your _nanomachines_.”

Barsad pressed the trigger.

Johan’s entire body jolted upward in a wave of fire, his upper body rising into the air. The voices inside his head yelled in a ghastly roar.

_‘NO!’_ they screamed in horror.

_What?_ Johan asked them in panic through the pain. _What’s happening?_

_‘Help us!’_

_I can’t! I can’t even move!_

_‘We are…dying.’_

_Dying?!_

_'It hurts us...'_

_Don’t go!_ The boy pleaded.

With horror Johan realized that no matter how much he hated what the nanomachines had made him become, he would be bare without them. Without them, he could protect no one. They had made him the savior he had become.

_Fight it! I need you!_

_‘We hurt!’_

_Just hang on!_

The voices cried out but did not answer in words.

_Don’t leave me!_

The voices grew fainter.

_I’m helpless without you!_

There was nothing.

_Are you there?!_

No response.

The nanomachines did not answer.

His body stopped its shaking and he lay flat on the ground, unmoving. As he slowly faded he saw the fuzzy outline of Bane hovering over him, the gray eyes shimmering in pleasure.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eventually he came to. The first thing he noticed was a feeling of unbearable weight pressing down on his entire body. The boy had never felt something like it before. He knew he wasn’t being crushed because he could wiggle his feet and legs. His skin and bones had an almost indescribable hollow feeling. There was something missing.

He didn’t feel whole.

That was when he remembered.

_The nanomachines._

His eyes shot open. A bright light blinded him. He tried to lift his hands to shield his face when stronger hands gripped his arms, willing them to stay at his side. A familiar hissing noise entered into his senses; it was floating over him.

“Be still, my flower. You are weak, do not move more than you have to.”

The voice over him was Bane. Johan was suddenly aware of thick arms wrapped around him while his head was pillowed against a firm thigh. His head was in Bane’s lap.

Johan blinked several times, finding his gaze looking upwards at the fluorescent lighting of the Batcave.

_What happened?_ He wondered drowsily. _I remember blacking out, Bruce was shot –_

“Bruce!” the boy called out. Johan tried to sit up but Bane’s monstrous hands stilled him, pushing him back downward onto his lap. He tried to struggle but whatever burst of strength he had soon left him.

“Bruce…” he repeated weakly while he stared unmoving at the cement ceiling.

“Do not fret, Joseph. Mr. Wayne is here,” Bane answered calmly, stroking the boy’s sweat-soaked hair. “Along with your dear Commissioner.”

_Bruce? Gordon?_ The boy thought. _They're both_ _alive?_

With great effort, Johan willed his impossibly heavy head to the side. That’s when he saw both Bruce and Gordon; tears started to form in the boy’s eyes. Bruce was unconscious on the floor about fifteen feet away. He was lying on this stomach, his legs sprawled awkwardly under him. There was a small pool of blood that had spilled from the darkened fabric of his ninja suit.

But the wound was wrapped with gauze and tape.

_They treated him,_ Johan figured sluggishly. Bruce’s back was moving up and down slowly. _He’s breathing…_

The gold eyes trailed further back to see Gordon slumped against the metal gurney; his hands were cuffed to the table over his head while he sat on the floor. The older man was looking at Johan pleadingly. There was a deep gash over his brow and dried blood was caked down the side of the man’s face. Barsad was standing silently off to the side, close to the Bat-Computer; he seemed disinterested with the entire scene.

“I’m sorry, son,” Gordon told him in a faint tone. “He surprised me. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong…” The man then stared down at the floor in silence.

“How odd,” Bane spoke from above. “He still calls you ‘son’. But what father cannot protect his own child?”

Johan closed his eyes and felt a large tear fall from the side of his eye and soak into his already wet hair. He opened them to look into the gray eyes, crinkled in pleasure. That was when he realized something: the mask was back in place.

_The mask? Where did it come from?_

As strange as it was, Johan felt more comfortable hearing the mechanical voice and seeing the metal tubes of the facial contraption. It was like the man he rescued from the sewers earlier hadn’t been Bane at all.

“I don’t understand,” Johan told Bane, tears running down his cheeks. “You have your mask back.”

The large man hummed in pleasure. “I do. For a small time.”

“But how? You said Ra’s destroyed it.”

“He did not.”

The boy’s head was cloudy. He tried to shake it and drive the fogginess away, but it was no use. His senses were dampened; he felt weaker than he had in years. Johan turned to Barsad.

“My nanomachines. What did you do to them?”

Barsad didn’t answer, instead glancing at Bane.

“They are gone, my desert flower,” Bane rasped, staring at the boy and clutching at Johan’s body a little tighter.

Johan raised a hand and swiped his cheek to dry it some. “They’re deactivated?”

“They are eradicated.”

_‘Eradicated’_ Johan said inwardly, the word bouncing around the fog of his brain.

_The nanomachines…_

_They’re gone…_

_Gone..._

The boy stared at the gray eyes that were watching him intently, waiting to see Johan’s reaction.

_They can’t be gone, they can’t. They just…can’t._

_Without them, I’m nothing…_

_Nothing..._

"NO!" the boy roared, the meaning of the information reaching the corners of his mind.

Johan began thrashing wildly. His legs kicked and his arms tried to flail; Bane simply kept the boy’s thin wrists enclosed in a strong hand. The man then hefted the boy up so Johan was sitting upright in his lap, the strong chest pressed up against the boy’s small back. Bane kept one fist around the boy’s wrists while one large arm was draped over Johan’s chest.

“No!” the boy called out again.

Johan was grunting with exertion as he shoved his body back and forth across the man’s legs, trying to break free from Bane’s grip. He bucked against the man as sweat beaded on his face. But the boy’s efforts were like a toddler trying to break from his father’s hold. Bane said nothing; Johan only heard the wheezing from the mask above his ears.

"Calm yourself, Joseph," the man holding him cooed. "You must rest. You are weak."

_Weak,_ Johan thought dismally _. I'm weak..._

The boy was helpless. It was the first time he had felt such a thing in years. His small frame had been backed up by the power of the tiny robots, enabling him to perform feats of strength that would otherwise have been impossible. He had been able to fight both Bane and Bruce in hand-to-hand combat and prove evenly matched.

Not any more.

_Now they’re gone_ , the boy thought.

His breathing quickened, becoming harsh and shallow. He stopped fighting against the mercenary's hold. Johan slumped over, his head bowing over Bane’s arm pressed against his upper torso. The boy was crying silently as tears streamed down his cheeks and dripped onto the man’s hands; his chest was still moving in jerks as he took trifling breaths.

“Breathe, son,” he heard the Commissioner say between the rushing in his ears. “It’ll be okay.”

_Gordon_ , Johan knew with despair. _And Bruce._ _I can’t help them anymore…_

_I can’t help anyone…_

The ‘detonator’ Barsad had must have been a modified form of the remote Ra’s had used earlier. Only Barsad’s was much more powerful - while Ra’s’ device had aggravated the nanos, Barsad’s had destroyed them.

_But why is Barsad here?_ Johan asked inwardly, the presence of the man finally catching up to his slacking mental processes.

“Barsad?” the boy asked softly. He didn’t know exactly what else to phrase through the scrambled thoughts jumbled in his brain.

Bane was now rubbing circles on Johan’s chest. “He returned my mask to me. Thanks to you, Joseph.”

_What?_ The boy thought. _Thanks…_ “To _me_?”

“Indeed. You were a crucial part of our plan,” the man said, his hands continuing to stroke the boy. “You see, after Talia's plan to destroy Gotham had failed, I was very weak. Ra's al Ghul found me. However, we both have a... _troubled_ history. I have longed to end him for many years."

"But why?" the boy asked. "He was your old master."

"He exiled me from the League, because of my vow to Talia. But I could not defeat him these past months without my mask, which he took from me.” Bane looked to Barsad. “And Ra’s is too great a foe for a normal man such as Barsad to defeat. But _you_ , Joseph,” Bane said with gusto, leaning down so that Johan could smell the hissing gas emitted from the filter on the mask, “You were worthy enough to fight and succeed against such a man as the Demon’s Head. You have given us our freedom, my flower.”

The boy's faced became red with anger. "Bastard." Johan put both of his hands around Bane’s arm to stop the man’s circular movements on his torso. “You… _wanted_ me to kill Ra’s?”

"Indeed," Bane answered.

“What about the bombs?” the boy asked.

“Ra’s ordered Barsad to plant them in certain buildings, just as he was also told to destroy my mask.” Bane then placed a loving tap on the leather side of the mask, above his ear. “Barsad did neither, of course. His obedience was a deception as we waited for the right time to kill the Demon's Head." Bane stared at Barsad for a moment. "My friend is only loyal to _me_." Barsad inclined his head, making no eye contact with the large man.

Johan swallowed with difficulty; his throat was desperately parched. “You don’t want to blow up any buildings?”

Bane nodded. “You are correct.”

“I'm sure Ra's would have noticed that Barsad wasn't putting bombs in buildings.”

“Ah," the man said, "but he _did_ plant them. However, our fallen leader did not know Barsad tampered with the explosives. They are 'duds', as you call them.”

“I don’t understand…” the boy spoke. “The city…it’s safe? You don't want to blow it up?”

“Gotham was Talia and Ra’s al Ghul’s undertaking.” Bane squeezed his arms around the boy. “However, I see no point for this city's further _reckoning_.”

_I can't believe this_ , the boy thought. _This whole time I was part of Bane's plan..._

“I…I _killed_ Ra’s…” Johan said slowly. “For _you_. You were waiting in Gotham this whole time. Waiting for me to murder him.”

“Do not feel guilty, my flower,” Bane soothed as he stroked the boy’s face. “Barsad tells me your nanomachines were responsible. But those will no longer be an… _issue_ , will they?”

“You lied to me,” the boy accused the man as he furrowed his brows. “You told me Barsad was going to kill people.”

“It was necessary.”

"Fuck you," the boy told him.

"Such bite," Bane said happily, his chest rumbling behind the boy.

Johan's body felt weighted with dread.  _I told Gordon to bring Bane here_ , the boy thought. _Bruce didn’t want him here and I did it anyway._ _It’s my own damn fault that Gordon and Bruce are in danger now._

Johan turned his neck upwards to he could meet Bane's gaze. “Bruce and the Commissioner have nothing to do with you. Let them go.”

“I cannot,” Bane wheezed.

The boy stared up, his eyes wide with sorrow. “Please. There’s been enough death on my account. I can’t...” Johan broke off as he sucked in an unsteady gulp of air. His gold eyes stared at Gordon who was slumped on the ground. The Commissioner was staring at the crumpled form of Bruce; the younger man was still alive, but he desperately needed medical attention. Johan furrowed his brow. “ _Please_ , Bane. Don’t kill them.”

The mercenary put a meaty hand on Johan’s neck. He pressed down gently, almost lovingly. “You have nothing to offer me this time, Joseph.”

Johan licked the salty tears that had dripped onto his mouth. “Is my body not enough?”

“Son…don’t…” Gordon told him, squinting at the boy; the man’s glasses were still discarded on the floor, but Gordon’s eyes were steeled with conviction. “You can’t…”

“Jim, stop.” The tears had stopped falling and were drying in streaks on Johan’s reddened face. “I’m not letting you die.”

“He will indeed die, my Joseph,” Bane spoke. “For you must learn your lesson.”

Johan dug his nails into the flesh of the man’s forearm. “What _lesson_?”

“You still do not understand, flower. You will always be mine,” the man huffed through the mask. Bane lowered his head so that the cool metal vents were pressing against Johan’s ear. “You belong to _me_.”

“That was just a deal, Bane.” The boy scratched his nails harder into the man’s skin; Bane didn’t seem to notice. “It ended when I left. I broke it. It’s _over_.”

“Hush now, my flower,” Bane cooed softly. “When I make a vow, it is never _‘over’_.” The man stood up, releasing his grip on the boy. Johan sat on the floor; he felt too weak to stand. The mercenary walked towards Gordon, unceremoniously stepping over Bruce’s unconscious body. “Since our previous agreement is still in place, I will yet again spare your dear Mr. Wayne. However…” the man said with a predatory tone. He approached the crumpled form of Gordon; the older man stared up in defiance. “The Commissioner will not share the same fortune.”

“Bane.” Johan got up on his knees, holding onto the floor to keep from wobbling. “ _Don’t._ ”

“I do not take orders from you, Joseph.”

The man crouched down slowly. He stroked the side of Gordon’s cheek where the dried blood had settled.

Gordon spat in Bane’s face. The saliva landed on Bane’s eye; the mercenary chuckled.

“You have spirit, similar to your so-called ‘ _son_ ’,” Bane said as he wiped his face dry.

“You bastard,” Gordon seethed. “The things you’ve done to that boy. You have no shame. You’re _sick_.”

Gordon’s head slammed against the gurney with a _bang_ as Bane’s fist made contact. Fresh blood oozed from the older man’s nose and dribbled onto his t-shirt. Bane tilted his head, studying Gordon’s pained expression. The older man was panting through his mouth loudly.

“Don’t touch him!” Johan screamed.

With what little surge of strength he had left, the boy stood up and made a run for Bane. He was ten feet away when arms engulfed him, holding him at bay. It was Barsad. Johan pulled against the man’s arms but Barsad was too strong. Everyone was too strong now that the nanomachines were destroyed.

“Quiet, Joseph,” Bane ordered calmly. “You are mine but your obedience is still lacking. The Commissioner’s death is a necessary evil. It is so you can learn your place.”

The boy watched as a strong hand curled tightly around Gordon’s neck. It started to squeeze. The older man’s eyes shot open as he sputtered for air.

“No!” Johan yelled as he desperately tried to break free from Barsad’s grasp.

Johan deftly brought his foot up and slammed it into the man’s knee. A blow like that with the nanomachines would have caused a clean break of bone and ligaments. Now the boy didn’t have enough force to cause a bruise. Barsad grunted but held firm. “Hit me instead!," the boy pleaded, "discipline me like last time!”

“That will not suffice,” Bane chided. Gordon’s mouth was opening and closing in anemic gasps; the blood vessels in his forehead were bulging as his entire face reddened. His legs were trying to kick Bane but the movements were too feeble. The older man’s blue eyes were unfocused and growing dim.

“Please, Bane,” the boy begged weakly. He went passive in Barsad’s arm. “ _Stop this_ …”

“Why?”

“Because you can be a good man.”

“Barsad told me you said such a thing. But a ‘good man’ needs reassurance of the loyalty of others. How else is he to sacrifice his… _desires_?”

Spit was bubbling from Gordon’s mouth as the life was slowly draining from him. The boy was visibly shaking, staring at the scene in horror.

_Jim…_

The boy could do nothing. The man he saw as a father was dying before him. Jim would leave behind children who would never visit him again, never see him push his glasses up his nose again, never receive advice from him again, never get hugged by him again…

_There’s nothing I can do…_

_There’s nothing I can give him…_

A sickening sputter of air left Gordon. He was close to death, his windpipe crushing beneath merciless hands.

_My body isn’t enough…_

Gordon’s eyes closed, his body gradually slackening. He was giving up the fight. He was leaving this world. Bane was looking down at the man, watching as the life dwindled from the body under his fingertips.

The boy took in a breath. His gold eyes were shining. He spoke steadily.

“Johan.”

Bane's hands stilled, but they remained over Gordon’s neck. The boy spoke again, this time louder.

“Didn’t you hear me? _Johan_.”

Bane turned his head so that he could see Johan in his periphery. “What did you say, boy?”

Johan stared at the man. “You were right. My name’s not ‘Joe’.” He tightened his fists. “It’s Johan.”

The hands removed themselves. Gordon fell to the ground and immediately inhaled a ragged breath as if he was emerging from underwater. He coughed several times as spittle ran down his mouth. Johan let out a grateful sigh as Gordon's chest moved up and down.

Bane stood up slowly from his crouch. His eyes were intently focused on the boy, glittering with unspoken interest. Barsad loosened his hold and the boy stepped forward towards Bane; he didn’t break eye contact with the man to look at either Bruce or the recovering Gordon. The large man stopped a foot away from the boy. The gray eyes gazed downwards into their gold counterparts.

“ _Johan_ …” the man said slowly as if twirling the name around his tongue. “Is that Swedish? Dutch?”

“Hebrew.”

“I see…” the man said slowly. “It means ‘John’?”

“Yeah. In English, anyway.”

Bane’s eyes shined with amusement. “It suits you better than ‘Joe’.” The man laid a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. Gordon was still hacking against the gurney, his breaths sounding serrated and painful. “Do you have a reason I should spare him?” the man asked. “ _Johan_?”

The boy nodded. “I do.”

“Then tell me.”

“You had my body before. If you let Gordon live, you can have everything else.”

“Including your name?”

“Yes, that.” The boy took a shaky breath. “It’s the last part of me that connects me to my past. I’m telling it to you as a sign of respect.”

Bane’s eyes didn’t change; they were unmoving. Johan placed a hand on the man’s arm.

“For Gordon’s life,” the boy told the man, “you have my full submission.” He lowered his head to the cement floor. “I won’t try to leave you again.”

There was a moment of pause before the boy felt a finger on his chin, lifting up his face. Bane’s eyes were crinkled as he ran a thumb over Johan’s lips.

“Your body has been mine,” the man wheezed lightly. “From now on, I wish to have your soul.”

“Then it’s yours. Just let the Commissioner live.”

Bane brushed a finger over Johan’s eyebrow. “He does not deserve life, my flower.”

The boy grasped the hand over his face, holding it between both his smaller hands. “Then do it for me. As a favor.”

“I do not deal in favors.”

“You can. If it’s for someone you love.”

The hand in Johan’s grasp tightened imperceptibly. “You think I _love_ you, Johan?”

“You said you loved Talia,” the boy said gingerly.

Bane’s eyes narrowed. “And you are not Talia.”

Johan continued on. “You loved her, but I never saw you kiss her.”

“Kiss?” The man’s eyebrows rose. “I cannot kiss. Not with this.” Bane ghosted a hand over his mask.

 “Not the way you think,” Johan explained. He led one of Bane’s hands to his face and took one of his thick fingers; he trailed it over his thin mouth. “ _This_. Did you ever do it to her?”

“That is nothing,” the man said, his eyes gleaming coldly. “I merely enjoy the sensation of your lips to my touch.”

The boy bit his bottom lip anxiously. “Your eyes say otherwise.”

Bane let out a hum and he cupped Johan’s cheek with a calloused hand. “Favors are nothing where I am from.”

“Then just this once. Spare one more person. _For me_.”

"Would this... _please_ you?" the man asked.

Johan nodded. "It would."

There was a tiny rustle from the floor. Johan looked to see Bruce’s form moving slightly. The younger man groaned and his fingers scratched against the smooth cement floor. Bane didn’t glance to Bruce, instead choosing to stare at the boy. He stroked Johan’s cheek once with a thumb and dropped his arm to his side.

“As you wish. I will allow the Commissioner to… _persist_.” He nodded to Barsad quickly. The smaller mercenary picked up some bags that were by the Bat-Computer; he strode to the platform, waiting in silence. Bane turned back to Johan, his gray eyes glittering. “I expect you to return my, ah, _favor_ in the near future. But for now, we must go. Our time in Gotham is done. We will leave this city to linger as it is.”

Johan stared at Bane. “And you’ll never want to come back to wreak havoc again?”

“I will never return,” the man said. They gray eyes looked at both Bruce and Gordon before focusing on the boy. “And neither will you.”

Bruce’s movements were growing louder. The man was using his good arm, the one not torn by a bullet, to try and push up his head and torso. Gordon, meanwhile, was still breathing heavily and Johan could see the beginnings of deep bruises forming on his wounded neck. The blue eyes were groggy but they were focused on Johan.

“Joe…don’t…” the older man said. His voice was grating, even raspier than Bane’s. His hands were still secured over his head against the gurney and the cuffs jingled as he tugged against them. “Son…it doesn’t…have to… _be_ this way…”

“Such a foolish man,” Bane chided aloud. “He does not know when he is beaten.” He turned to the boy. “Come, Johan,” he said as he followed Barsad to the platform. Johan stayed put, staring at the weakened Commissioner; the older man looked defeated.

_I have to go with Bane_ , the boy thought with dismay. _He’ll kill Gordon otherwise, and maybe do worse._

He took a step towards Gordon. “I’ll be okay, Jim. Don’t worry about me.”

“Son,” Gordon pleaded, “we’ll… _find_ you.”

Johan smiled weakly. “Don’t come after me. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“ _Joe_ …” the man said, tears forming.

“I’ll be okay.”

Gordon’s eyes were glistening. He gulped down a painful swallow. “Stay strong, son.”

The boy nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Same here, Jim. When we leave, call Mr. Fox.” He bent down and grabbed his communicator from the floor. He walked to Gordon and placed it in the man’s bound hands. “He’ll send help to get you out of here.”

Gordon swallowed thickly, wincing at the obvious pain from his aggravated windpipe. He held on firmly to the boy’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “We'll get you.”

The boy said nothing.

“Hurry, Johan,” Bane called from the platform.

Both he and Barsad were staring at him – but they weren’t the only ones.

Bruce was watching him, green eyes hazy but still sharp.

Somehow the man had managed to keep his upper body upright in order to take in his surroundings. Sweat was glistening on his pale skin as he struggling to maintain his half-upright position.

“You can’t have him,” Bruce said shakily. He was facing away from the platform but Bane knew the statement was for him. The large mercenary’s eyes were gleaming in an entertained fashion.

“Is that so?” Bane mocked loudly. “Will you fight for him?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bruce panted. His hand suddenly slipped on a piece of the floor that was wet from his own blood. He grunted as his face smacked against the hard ground.

Johan began to walk to meet the awaiting men. He didn’t want to stop and talk to Bruce for fear that Bane would do further harm to the vigilante. His steps echoed in the quiet room as he walked by Bruce’s flat form; the vigilante’s hand darted out and grabbed the boy’s ankle.

“Joe, _fight_ them,” Bruce said as his face was turned up to the boy. “You can win. I know it.”

“I can’t. The nanomachines are gone.” He looked down at Bruce, silently willing the man to understand their situation.

Bruce stared uncomprehending for a second before his face crumpled in desolation.

“No…” the man stated softly.

“Come now, my flower,” Bane called, his hands folded in front of his muscular chest. “Do not waste our time speaking with this forsaken city’s savior.”

“Bruce,” Johan whispered as he bent down quickly. The man was bleakly staring at the floor.  “Don't…” Johan faltered briefly. “Don't come after me.”

“ _No_ …” Bruce responded and grasped the boy’s ankle tighter. “I can’t lose you, too.”

The boy’s heart broke. He hurriedly grasped the man’s hand; it was cold. “Bruce, this is where our paths have taken us. We can’t get what we want.”

“I’ll get you back,” Bruce responded. He looked up into the gold eyes and clenched his hand around the boy’s. “I promise.”

Johan shook his head. “It’s time to let me go.”

“I can’t let _him_ take you.”

“He’ll kill Gordon if I don’t go. And I won't be able to stop him."

Bruce said nothing. He had the look of a caged animal that has nowhere to run. The boy knew there was no argument to be made. If everyone was to live, he had to leave with Bane.

The man’s hand curled tight around Johan. “I’ll find you.”

The boy looked down at the man. “I don’t want you to.”

“ _Stop_. Don’t say things like that.”

Johan glanced to where Bane and Barsad were waiting. The large man was tapping his foot impatiently on the platform and his eyes were honed on the boy’s crouched form. The boy looked back to broken man beneath him.

“Don’t make me another Rachel, Bruce. You can’t rescue everyone.”

“Bullshit,” Bruce scowled between gritted teeth. His emerald eyes were blazing in anger. “I _know_ you don’t believe that.”

Johan’s brows creased. “I do.”

“Then you have to stop sacrificing your life.”

“Bruce, don’t-,”

“ _No_ , Joe. If I don’t get to lecture _you_ then you don’t get to lecture _me_.” Bruce’s pale hand squeezed tighter around the boy’s ankle. “I will find you.”

“Do you really think we’d have a future?” Johan asked softly.

Bruce didn’t answer. Deep down it was the truth that both of them knew. Happy endings didn’t exist for people like them. Souls that have gone through torment were hard to heal. Even more so, two broken people didn’t make a whole person. Bruce didn’t need someone damaged like him; he needed someone else. Someone better. It didn’t matter that they loved each other.

_Sometimes_ , the boy thought, _love isn’t enough to keep two people together._

Johan bent down lower and cupped Bruce’s check with his small hand. “I’ll be fine. Forget about me.”

Bruce’s sweaty hair hung down low, almost covering his eyes. His pulse was beating fast in his neck and the boy could see how hard he was straining just to keep eye contact.

“You said you loved me,” Bruce whispered gently.

The boy smiled sadly. “And I always will.”

Bruce’s face crumpled before him. It made the boy’s chest ache. “You were going to come with me…”

“You deserve someone better,” the boy told the broken man.

“Joe… _please_ …”

Johan lowered his head and kissed Bruce softly. It was chaste, but the boy tried to convey his emotions in their meeting of lips. His sadness, regret, and sorrow were transferred from him to Bruce through supple skin.

“Enough,” Bane’s strong voice erupted in the chamber. “Come now, Johan.”

The boy looked to his former partner, his gold eyes shimmering with unspoken apologies.

“I will find you,” the man repeated quietly, so only the boy could hear.

Johan squeezed the man’s hand. “Goodbye, Bruce.”

They stared at each other a few more moments. Bruce slowly let go of Johan’s ankle and the boy released the man’s hand. Johan went to the platform; as he neared, Bane and Barsad stepped on, triggering the ascending mechanism. It began to rumble to life just as Johan had both feet on it. A beat later is started rising.

The boy watched as they edged closer to the ceiling. His eyes moved back and forth between the two figures left in the darkening room; the rows of lights were going out one by one as they neared the surface. Both men being left in the darkness had given their lives for a city that was whole and alive thanks to them. Their sacrifices weren’t in the vain, the same as Johan’s. The three of them had worked together for the greater good.

_And yet_ , Johan thought wistfully, _we're still struggling for our survival._

_And for our happiness._

The room was entirely in black now as the platform rose the last few feet to the top. He closed his eyes, knowing that once that platform clunked in place, he would be cut away from the two most important people in his life.

Bane put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your Commissioner will call for help. They will live, Joseph.”

_They’re alive_ , Johan knew. _But have they endured too pain much to recover?_

The _thud_ sounded out as the platform clicked into place. Johan opened his eyes and saw light streaming through the windows of the shipping container office. Dust particles were dancing in the morning ray of sun reaching past the slits in the blinds. He looked out the window.

Sunrise had finally come, putting an end to this eternal night. The orange sun was shimmering over the tiny waves of the ocean. In the midst of the violence and madness Johan had endured, he still had to admit it was beautiful.

Barsad led the way out of the on-site office building. Their car was parked nearby, a nondescript gray Honda Accord sedan. The smaller man got into the driver seat while Bane waited for Johan to get into the back. On the small walk from the shipping container to the car, Johan inhaled a lungful of salty air.

“Hurry, my boy,” Bane ordered, but his tone held no bite.

The boy got in the backseat and Bane followed suit. Barsad started the engine and exited the docks through the chain link entrance. The Honda sped down a few blocks; other cars were on the road now, people commuting to work and children going to school. Barsad merged onto the Interstate heading West. The car engine revved as it shifted gears to reach highway speed. Johan wondered what happened to the panel van that Barsad was driving earlier. Which led the boy to an unanswered question…

“Ra’s’ body,” the boy stated, looking at Barsad’s drowsy eyes in the rearview mirror. “Did you burn it?”

Barsad answered without glancing back. “No.”

Johan’s brow furrowed in question. “But doesn’t that trap his soul? I mean, according to your beliefs.”

“It does.”

“Then where’s the body?”

Barsad glanced back in the mirror at the boy. “The bottom of the bay. It will never resurface.”

_Ouch_ , the boy thought. _Ra’s’ soul is trapped forever._ His eyes lingered over the dark blue-grayish water over the Bay. The boy turned to Bane. “Where are we going?”

The man’s head was leaning against the headrest in relaxation. He glanced to the boy. “I was thinking the Midwest. We can live peacefully there.”

“Peaceful, huh?” Johan asked, his voice laced with skepticism. “You must have had some kind of personal growth in those sewers.”

“I tire of the contempt that Talia required of me. Without her or her father, both Barsad and I are free to live as we so desire.”

“Your oath to her was fulfilled when she died," the boy said. "You can do whatever you want now.”

“Yes. I can.”

_Good_ , the boy thought with relief. _I’m done stopping terrorist plots for a long time. Forever, really, if I can help it._

Johan breathed out slowly; he felt like he’d aged ten years this night. It was all so surreal. He had lived an entire lifetime while most of the city had been asleep. By tomorrow this entire night could seem like a dream…

But he knew two men who wouldn’t see it like that. Johan figured Gordon had already called Lucius. Bruce seemed to be handling his injury well; with some medical attention they would both be fine.

_They’ll be okay_ , the boy knew. _They’re safe..._

“He will not find us,” Bane said. By ‘him’ Johan knew Bane was referring to Bruce, the man seemingly reading his mind. He placed a hand on Johan’s thigh. “You are not meant to be with him.”

The boy smirked joylessly, remembered their first encounter. “Are you talking about ‘fate’ again?”

“I am,” the man rumbled.

“The more I think about it,” Johan mused aloud, “I’m starting to believe in some sort of cosmic justice. One way or another, every person pays for their mistakes.”

Bane chuckled. “You speak of divine retribution?”

“I guess you can call it that.”

“Is that what you consider this?” the man purred as he leaned over the empty middle seat towards the boy. His large hand edged closer to Johan’s groin but didn’t go further. “Belonging to me is your punishment?”

“Maybe.”

“My desert flower, now that you have pledged yourself to me, body _and_ soul, I can assure you that our future time together will be much more…” Bane looked into the boy’s eyes, a hungry look dancing within them. “ _Gratifying_ for you.”

“The nanomachines are gone, Bane,” the boy said, ignoring the predatory gleam in Bane’s eyes. “You can’t be as, um, _rough_ as you used to.” His cheeks were flushed red; he knew Barsad could hear everything from the front seat.

The man drew back a few inches, studying the boy. “You seem to be handling their loss rather well.”

“I never wanted them in the first place. And the more I think about it…I’m glad they’re gone.”

“How so, _Johan_?” It was obvious the man was still relishing the boy’s real name.

Johan turned his head to the window, his eyes trailing the passing cars. People were going about their day as usual, enjoying their lives without guilt or shame or regret for not being good enough, for not being quick enough or strong enough to save someone.

The boy explained, “With the nanomachines, I had no excuse not to try to save everyone. It was _my_ responsibility to help others, because of my abilities...” He scratched his chestnut hair with a hand. “And now...it's not.”

Johan suddenly understood why Bruce had left Gotham, why he left the cape and cowl behind. When you undertake such a crusade there’s a steady weight on your shoulders, a weight so constant that you eventually forget it’s even there, or what life is like without it. Once that weight is taken away, you can truly live.

For the first time he could ever recall, Johan felt that life was his.  _His_.

The nanomachines were a remnant of his past that he would have rather forgotten. And now they were gone. He had been crushed at their loss a short time ago, but now that he thought about it, he was happy to be rid of them.

_I had to surrender myself to Bane to save Bruce and Gordon_ , Johan thought to himself. _But I was able to save them without my nanos. I don't need nanomachines anymore to do good._

_I don't need them..._

_I don't want them._

“We each have been liberated from our burdens,” Bane observed in a quiet rasp.

_'Liberated'_ , the boy mused. _Freed..._

“For the first time, Bane,” Johan remarked. "I think agree with you.”

The man removed his hold from Johan’s thigh. He placed his hands in his pant pockets and leaned back against the headrest. He closed his eyes. “You do not seem... _disturbed_ that you must stay with me.”

“Well, for starters, this time it’s much less _disturbing_.”

The man peeked at the boy through one gray eye. “Why is that?”

“Hm, how about you’re not trying to vaporize an entire city?”

“Why, my flower,” Bane said in mock surprise. He closed his eye and settled into the leather seat. “You sound as if you’re going to _enjoy_ our time together.”

“I’m just thinking about something you said to me once.”

“Do share.”

“I already told you tonight,” Johan replied. He stared out the window. “Enemies make for the best of friends.”

Bane snorted softly through the mask. “I believe I said ‘ _companions’_ , not friends.”

_Same difference_ , the boy thought. Johan chewed is bottom lip. "What will you do if I try to leave you?"

The man kept his eyes closed. "I will kill the Commissioner," he said. Bane paused as he took a breath. "And then I will break you."

"You won't kill me?"

"I will not end what is mine."

"Good to know," the boy said dryly. The man said no more. Johan found himself staring at the leather and metal contraption that was restored to Bane’s face.

“Why do you wear it?”

“What, may I ask?”

Johan pointed. “Your mask. You could receive intravenous painkillers if you wanted. So why the mask?”

“Ah,” Bane cooed and turned to the face the boy, his eyes wide with mischief. “Do you find me _handsome_ without it, my flower?”

“Um…” Johan said with a blush. “Just tell me. I want to know.”

The man chuckled lightly. “I will not wear it when we reach our destination. This mask would not allow us to live in secret. It is much too… _infamous_.” Bane brushed Johan’s hair where it was falling into the golden eyes. “And much like your nanomachines, I will rid myself of this burden to start anew. Our lives will be much different now, will they not?”

“They will,” Johan admitted. “So you never liked wearing it?”

Bane’s eyes narrowed as if he remembered something unpleasant. “I did not.”

“Why?”

“It was a marker for the cruelty of Ra’s al Ghul,” Bane said tensely. He folded his hands in his lap. “That is all I will say. I wish to rest now, my flower.”

“Okay,” Johan complied. “But I want to ask you one more thing.”

“And what is that?” he asked, a mild hint of impatience in his voice.

“Will you ever tell me _your_ name?”

The man hummed in contemplation. Bane took Johan’s hand in his; he rubbed his thumb along the boy’s knuckles.

“One day, my flower. One day.”

The man was done answering his questions. As Bane settled in his seat for a nap and Barsad remained silent in the front seat, Johan continued to stare out the window. The clouds scattered against the sky had a swirling dreamlike quality about them. They were spiraled on top of each other and highlighted by the orange hue of the sunrise.

_It looks like the van Gogh painting_ , Johan realized. _Except now I won’t have to be reminded of Bane because I’ll be living with him._

Johan mused inwardly at how he was strangely at peace with this new arrangement. At least for now, anyway. He felt immensely guilty for having to leave Bruce and Gordon, but he knew they would both recover. What actions the two men would take when they were recovered was yet to be seen.

_They'll come after me,_ Johan knew. _But if they find us, will I want to go with them?_

Johan figured he’d cross that bridge when the time came. Until then, he would make the best out this situation. Life had its shortcomings, big and small, but the boy would make the most out of it.

_So many imperfections_ , he said to himself,  _but still an attractive end product_.

He thought back to his summer spent on Gordon’s couch, staring at the van Gogh. Or his other pastime, staring at the plaster designs while gazing above his horizontal perch.

“Hey, Barsad,” he said softly.

The drowsy eyes looked back in the rearview mirror. Per usual the man remained silent so Johan went ahead. “Have you guys picked out a place to live yet?”

Bane grunted tiredly next to him. “So many questions,” the man said. “But no, we have not.”

“Good,” the boy replied. “I want a place with stucco ceilings.”


End file.
